


Delusion Tax

by Malice_and_Macarons



Series: Delusions [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Jeremy is still a fucking prick, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 176,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malice_and_Macarons/pseuds/Malice_and_Macarons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was it, there was nothing more to think about. Murkoff was finished and all their bullshit died with Jeremy Blaire.<br/>If only Blaire had died.<br/>He would have much rather have been dead. Now Blaire is stuck trying to stitch himself back together, avoid Murkoff and desperately try outrunning a few enemies he made in the asylum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick prologue.  
> The actual chapters will be longer.
> 
> Blaire is my baby...I will see him suffer.

It was the sound.

That ungodly sound as his bones began to crack and strain under the pressure, and the distant echo of his skin abruptly being forced to part with a sickening tearing sound – almost as though it was mere fabric splitting at the seams. The sheer dreadfulness of what was happening to him was unable to be completely expressed through pain or sight, as most of the terrors leading to his death took place internally. But in the _sound_ there was horror.

It was in the sound that Jeremy Blaire realised he was well and truly dead.

Why had he bothered with Park? Oh yes, that's right. Park would have gone and ruined everything had he been allowed to live. The damn techie tried his damndest to ruin Jeremy Blaire at every given opportunity. Blaire wouldn’t have his ass shipped off to jail just because a single insubordinate bastard couldn’t keep his stupid trap shut.

It was only logical that he tried to gut Waylon Park the moment he saw him, but if Jeremy were to be completely honest – a feat within itself – he would have to admit that, yes, he had simply wanted to stab Park.

Waylon could have been the most obedient little mouse to ever work for him and Blaire still would have coaxed him forward with pleas for assistance then proceeded to tear out his stomach with the knife. Jeremy acknowledged to some degree that this guttural desire was not _entirely_ Park’s fault. Jeremy had hated Waylon Park from the very first time they met – not the idiot techie’s fault maybe, but no less lethal had Jeremy had the chance to finish him off properly.

But he hadn’t.

That was just the point. He hadn’t been able to kill Park because Jeremy was being torn apart in his place.

How the Walrider got out and what it was doing in the lobby was beyond Blaire’s frantic mind. All he could do was blindly try to struggle away from an entity that had no solid form to be fought against.

When he felt the first bone in his ribcage give and the first split of flesh, Jeremy was fully aware that he was dead. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out – likely enough, even the moron Park had realised it as he lay bleeding and staring up at his former boss getting shredded.

For the briefest moment a ridiculous thought slipped into Blaire’s head as the second bone – one in his leg – snapped under the pressure of the Walrider’s hold. What would Waylon Park think when he looked up and saw the abrupt demise of the man who, arguably had caused him the most suffering – next to only that of Eddie Gluskin, the sick fuck.

After all the lies, cover-ups, abuse and god only knows what else – what would the self-righteous Waylon Park think right now?

Jeremy concluded with the tiniest shred of satisfaction that Waylon Park – the kind, ever morally sound – Waylon Park, would laugh. In that small realisation Jeremy was able to take a moment of pleasure even as he screamed his lungs out and lost consciousness in a sudden explosion of blood and parts of flesh that had once belonged to him.

Waylon Park would be the sole survivor, something that Blaire would have scoffed, laughed and damn neared wept over had the mere suggestion been offered up only a week earlier. Park, the weedy little techie was the only one lucky enough to get out in one piece – for the most part anyway. While on his end, Blaire would be left nothing more than a floor decoration for the next poor bastard to stumble in upon.

That was it, there was nothing more to think about. Murkoff was finished and all their bullshit died with Jeremy Blaire.

If only he had died.


	2. Decimated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I find it so funny when I read Jeremy Blaire’s wiki that under his death it says, decimated by Walrider. So lo and behold the title of the first chapter.  
> What?....I thought it was funny. Screw you, it’s funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware the flashbacks.  
> ...  
> ...

The first thought that came into Jeremy’s mind, the very first conscious thought that popped up, in his most likely severely damaged brain, was something along the lines of – ‘ _ouch!_ ’

The next sentient thought he had was a little bit more helpful though no less simplistic, ‘ _I’m alive_.’

Logically Blaire realised this to be statistically impossible. He felt the way the Walrider had broken his body, the mere sound of it still chimed loudly in his ears – an onslaught of flesh being torn and blood spilling onto the floor with a sickening _splat_.

Walrider was not known to be inefficient, it was not a creature known to leave people still breathing – but breathe Jeremy continued to.

Puzzled and admittedly a little sceptical, Jeremy tried to open his eyes, to take in some of his surroundings to figure out how this had happened. Perhaps it would be as cliché as waking up from a bad dream. Or maybe he was dead and this was hell – no drug induced high was strong enough to make Blaire believe for a moment he’d go anywhere else if there was an afterlife. But that’s what happened when you sold your soul away to Murkoff – you might as well tack on a one-way ticket to the furnace to save time and money. If Murkoff knew how to do _anything_ , it was saving money.

However, despite popular believe and hopes, Jeremy Blaire was not in hell. Unfortunately he was not in his bed either. He found himself lying on the same cold, blood soaked floor he’d been resting on when Park came along. The only difference now was that he was in the centre of the entry hall and there was a distinct lack of pain. He had the sensation, the understanding, that he should be in writhing in anguish but his brain refused to process the ungodly amount of agony Blaire should have been in. It was a mercy but also a warning – it meant that whatever damage had been done to him was bad enough to begin shutting down his brain.

So for a few seconds Jeremy remained motionless on the ground, staring hazily up towards the far away ceiling and half hoping that Chris Walker would show up and finish what Walrider hadn't. Between death and the possibility that he was a vegetable – Blaire would have chosen death twice over. As the minutes began to trickle by, Jeremy noticed something else not quite right. While he’d hoped Walker might wander in and just _walk_ right over him, there was a distinct lack of movement, of any kind.

Straining himself Jeremy tried to listen past the constant buzzing in his ears that reminded him he was probably concussed, if not suffering brain damage of all kinds. There was only silence. No rats scurrying about and no variants wailing or chattering uncontrollably. There was also a distinct lack of gunfire or the sound of heavy boots clomping around the lower levels. It was like everyone had vanished, as though everyone had died. If that were true, then there’d be nobody to come and off Blaire besides time itself.

Jeremy Blaire was never the patient type anyway.

It took a great deal of effort and concentration just to locate his own hand. Twitching his fingers was no easy task and while Jeremy did manage to get a response out of his pinky eventually he was still a fair ways off getting total hand function back. However the most reassuring part of this was that he actually still _had_ that hand. It had not been torn out of its socket by the Walrider – there, one more plus to the bright side of life.

Now for the left.

This took more time but Blaire was eventually greeted with a wave of nauseating pain down to his elbow, at least telling him he had the elbow – but he wasn’t able to get any fingers twitching this time.

Fear began to build in Jeremy’s stomach as he imagined a bloodied stump leading to where the rest of his arm should be. He could see it perfectly in his mind, torn flesh and a pool of blood – the image wasn’t going to make his top ten any time soon. Slowly, anxiously, Jeremy forced himself to look, forced his eyes to swivel to the furthest most point of their sockets till his arm came into view.

It was there…all of it.

Oh sure, it was mangled and there was decent chunks taken out of it – but it was there.

Relief flowed through Jeremy and he was not ashamed when he let out a near hysterical huff of laughter. With one arm functioning and the other still present, Jeremy began to try and sit himself up – it was only then that the pain began to hit him properly. Blaire had rarely been hurt bad enough to consider snivelling but he didn’t believe anyone would wrong him for letting out a few tears in that moment – only pride kept him from letting out cries of desperation and agony.

The simple act of righting himself took longer than Jeremy could have anticipated but the discomfort that came with the action was just as gruelling as he expected. His vision swam nauseatingly in front of his eyes but thankfully what was left of his lunch stayed down with a bit of a fight.

Once Jeremy could see his legs, he almost lost that fight. Much like his useless left arm, his legs were in tatters.

The sight of shredded fabric and flesh caused him to gag and along with the view came the pain that had been blissfully absent from his mind. Hissing in air through his teeth in an effort to keep from screaming out loud, Blaire produced a string of small whines and growls of pain that he couldn’t entirely stifle. The soft grunts and vocal complaints echoed eerily around the silent entry hall, reminding Jeremy of just how quiet the whole place was. Despite his assumptions that the asylum would be empty of all life – Jeremy still tensed when his own voice echoed back to him, he was afraid that someone might hear him and come to finish the job.

Then a scary thought occurred to him. In the form of a smiling face, Jeremy remembered a very personalised nightmare.

“ _Where are you hiding now? Come now Mr. Blaire – we’re not done with your therapy yet_.”

A violent shudder ran down Blaire’s spine and with it the fear brought adrenaline. He had to get out. Jeremy didn’t care if the whole building had been gunned down by Murkoff or torn apart by Walrider – he had to get _out_. The slim possibility that he might be found by that freak was more than enough to get Jeremy moving, and so with every agonised gasp for breath, Jeremy dragged himself a little further upright.

Mount Massive Asylum had been filled to breaking point with nut-jobs just waiting for an excuse to kill one another. Murder, cannibalism, rape, it all flowed freely after the riot, and Jeremy thought himself lucky to have avoided the worst of the carnage. Patients like Eddie Gluskin – the delusional fuck – and Frank Manera, were top priorities when it came to staying away and staying safe. Jeremy had avoided the worst of it – with the occasional close call with Chris Walker – he’d thought himself to be safe halfway through the mess.

Until he ran into _that_ guy.

The memory of that idle smile and calm words struck Jeremy more deeply than any of the variants crazed ravings. There was something in the semblance of sanity that the patient had spoken with, that unnerved Blaire. It reminded him too closely of Rick.

Rick…

Momentarily Blaire paused, the name of his former friend and co-worker coming to mind. He knew instinctively that he was dead. Richard Trager was dead from the moment he set foot in the lower levels, the second that Blaire saw the executive’s papers of transfer to the Morphogenic Engine program – Jeremy knew he was gone.

With a slight shake of his head he forced away those pointless thoughts. Trager wasn’t going to come back no matter how much he thought of him and if he wasn’t out of here fast enough, Jeremy might just join Rick in death.

It was only when Jeremy had dragged himself to his flimsy legs that he noticed something that brought about mixed feelings in him. Someone had patched him up. It was shoddy work, done on someone who needed much more skilled medical care, but it was one of the only things keeping Jeremy upright. Somewhat clumsy stitches held patches of his flesh together, threatening to tear open again if he was too hasty. There was even a few makeshift bandages around his arm and legs, they appeared to be made from the same material as his ruined clothes joined by what Jeremy guessed was a patient's uniform – he could even see some digits on the fabric from the patient's identification number.

Confused, but by no means disappointed by this discovery, Jeremy once again set his focus on survival. Who had done this wasn’t important, not right now, he had to think of escape before stopping to consider all the oddities that went on in his time at the asylum. From where he stood the doors were still wide open and he could distantly make out the shape of the asylum’s front gates. They appeared to have been smashed open. When he’d been laying in the hallway, before Walrider made a chew-toy of him, Jeremy had spotted a car by the asylum gates, he guessed that the car had been taken and used to break open the gates. That meant at least one person had made it out of this place alive.

With that knowledge Jeremy felt a familiar spike of rage flood through him. After all his hard work someone had gone and survived. If they got out and didn’t have the good sense to keep their traps shut then it wouldn’t matter if Jeremy got out of here alive. Murkoff would see him dead just as soon as they would the person who blew the damn whistle. Deciding to be optimistic and hope whoever had escaped had crashed and died, Jeremy continued with his original plan of escape.

Every step he took was another white hot flash of agony, another reminder that he would need a fucking miracle to make it anywhere that he could get proper medical attention. Even if he was to find a hospital, Jeremy was hesitant to actually go there for help. If he was found by Murkoff or the police, it made no difference, he’d be caught and ultimately end up in a cell – as a best-case scenario.

He’d have to figure out a way to avoid the public eye for a while. That was fine, just fine. He could do it. He was many things, many dreadful, monstrous things, but a quitter was not one of them.

Jeremy Blaire was no fucking quitter.

Despite himself Jeremy scoffed out a bitter chuckle. He knew that Rick would have praised him. Given him a pat on the back with that annoying, bloody smirk of his.

“ _That’s the spirit, buddy_!”

Yeah…something dumb like that.

Jeremy still managed to hold onto that bitter smile as he edged his way to the front doors of the asylum and out into the light of day. It was foolish to make friends in Murkoff. They’d both known that and Rick had paid dearly for his mistakes when it came to Murkoff. Jeremy was just now realising how stupid it was to befriend the other man.

Now he was going to be hearing his shitty ass voice talking encouragement for the rest of his life.

Silver lining, he might not have that much left to the rest of his life anyway.

In an effort to both distract himself from the pain in his legs and back, Jeremy kept his mind on useless things. To dull the sting of each step he took, Jeremy thought back on the times he and Rick had knocked off to play golf rather than deal with incompetent employees. The number of times he’d showed off to Rick, demonstrating why his clubs were the best money could buy.

Most of all Jeremy could remember how pointlessly fun it had been. Enjoyment held no weight in the Murkoff world, but still they’d indulged in it.

Jeremy decided now that he was glad they had. It was the only good thing that could occupy his mind as he slowly dragged himself away from the ruined asylum.

…  
…

“I don’t know buddy. That’s one hell of a shot.” Rick mused, peering out across the pond that stood between them and the final hole of the golf course. Jeremy was pretty damn sure he could make the shot even from this inconvenient position, or rather he wasn’t going to let Rick one up him when it came to golf.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell come the day I let _you_ beat me at golf Trager.” Jeremy scoffed as he took a tentative swing with his club. Rick had always been fairly laid back when it came to golf. He never gave anything away without an honest to god effort but Jeremy never noticed the older executive throwing his back into it either.

“Well how about some friendly competition?” Rick suggested with an eager smile. “There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of rivalry.”

With his club slung over his shoulder, Jeremy turned to look back at his colleague, sizing up the confident smirk on Trager’s face. In all the times they’d gone out golfing, Jeremy struggled to think of an instance where Rick had been able to best him – let alone be foolish enough to try betting with him. Still, it was not a terrible idea and if victory was assured then who was Jeremy to say no?

“Hmpf.” Smirking Jeremy rolled the club off his shoulders. “Name your stakes.”

“Lets start with something simple, eh?” Rick turned to look up towards the shot Jeremy had been lining up earlier. The one across the pond. Following his gaze Jeremy’s smirk widened – he could make it. He was positive.

“When I make this.” Jeremy looked pointedly at Trager, that self-assured glint in his eyes. “You will be filling out paperwork for a month.”

…  
…

“ _Gah_ \--!” Jeremy almost lost his footing, being brought down to his knees as a sudden surge of pain struck him.

The memory of that day with Trager slipped away into the back of his mind as a painful haze clouded his thoughts. He was almost seeing red as his legs buckled under him and brought the formerly able bodied man to the ground.

He’d made it out of the asylum and even past the front gates but the unforgiving dirt road was giving his shredded body some grief. No matter how Jeremy tried he could not recall the memory that had given him some mind numbing relief, no matter how desperately he clung to that frivolous, sunbathed golf course – it continued to slip away as the pain gradually became unbearable.

With the aching of his body and the burning of wounds that had yet to close up, Jeremy was instead slipped into a different sort of memory, and no matter how much he willed it back, he was unable to keep the tormenting memories at bay.

Those hours he’d spent in the asylum, running down filthy halls and trying pathetically to stay alive were still burned into his mind. The fear and anger still fresh as though he were still fleeing for his life.

Park, Annapurna, that fucking reporter – all of them would bitch and moan about the horrors at Mount Massive Asylum, both before and after the outbreak, but they’d never even consider the effects it would have on the bastards running the joint. Not one of them would consider sparing a thought for the hell he’d gone through. Well…Blaire wouldn’t fault them for that. Self-preservation always came first after all. Those that survived – if there were any others besides himself – would no doubt always remember their own individual hell. Jeremy Blaire was already experiencing nightmares, and he was yet to even close his eyes.

In his unseeing gaze there reflected a pair of scissors. Small and sharp – with the intention of cutting out his ‘lying tongue’.

“ _The sharper the scissors, the better the cut_.”

It was not the pain numbing anaesthetic that Trager’s memory had been, but the remembrance of a nightmare kept Jeremy moving. Moving towards anything else, moving away from hell – leaving the asylum behind.

…  
…

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!

Jeremy stumbled, frantically scrambling down the halls of the asylum in an effort to escape before he ended up as nothing more than another bloodstain on the wall. Walker had given him a rough time at first but it seemed as though the brute was quickly distracted with easier prey – Park actually managed to be of some use.

In-fucking-credible.

The walking mountain of flesh that was Walker had been left somewhere behind him and for a while Jeremy had felt safe. For a while he felt that he’d be able to ward off the lesser variants with a simple baton and superior intelligence. He had not counted on running into a certain former employee.

Since their incidental run in some ten hours ago…Jeremy had been running without pause. No matter which door he blocked or which corridor he slipped down – his stalker was able to find him each and every time.

“My, my.” The calm words followed Blaire as he raced down the ruined asylum halls, dodging abandoned wheelchairs and upturned cupboards as he went. “Mr. Blaire, all this running – it can’t be good for your health.”

Another sharp corner taken too hastily and Jeremy almost found himself skidding on a pool of what he _hoped_ was blood. If it wasn’t then he didn’t even known what to begin thinking. Thankfully he was able to cling onto some semblance of dignity and did not come crashing down into the filth. With a few panicked, unbalanced steps, Jeremy was running again. But that slip up had cost him. As he struggled to regain his balance, Jeremy collided with one of the tables that was still left standing in the asylum, knocking off all kinds of rubbish on it. Metal and paper went flying in a terrifying clatter of sound – that noise alone brought the attention of his stalker to his location.

“Mr. Blaire!” The joyful tone shot a cold chill up Jeremy’s spine. The voice was not too far behind him, barely around the corner even. In a panic Jeremy looked for somewhere to go. He knew this hall, he knew every room would ultimately lead to a dead-end cell, the only way to escape was to keep running and if he did that he ran the risk of being seen. Once he’d been visually compromised, Jeremy doubted his chances of slipping away again.

There was always the option of hiding, lowering himself under one of the beds or tables around and hoping he’d pass by without noticing. That seemed too degrading to even consider, Jeremy Blaire was not going to fucking lower himself to cowering in dark corners with his tail between his legs. Then again…cowards survived.

“Now, I know you’re scared.” The freak continued to talk in that pleasant tone, as if he could somehow reason with Blaire on the matter. “I know, I know…but you really must try to be more honest with yourself. Mr. Blaire, you’ve been under a lot of _stress_ recently haven’t you? It’s perfectly understandable that you’d be a little...on edge.”

Each word came out as calm and collected, at least until it hit the final two and then the perusing male’s words dripped into a low snarl, full of mockery. _He knew._ He fucking knew what he was doing. Blaire realised that this was scarier than the simple mad ravings of other patients.

They were brainless, thoughtless, unorganised and uncoordinated. They may as well have been rabid dogs that vaguely remembered having a grasp on the english language. As vicious as they were, those mad men were easily evaded. Men like this, men still conscious and clever enough to see what they were doing for what it was – well, they were the true dangers.

Spitting furious curses under his breath, Jeremy looked for a weapon. He'd been 'relieved' of the baton he started with during their mockery of a therapy session. He had to find something, anything that he might be able to use to somehow finish the bastard before he was able to get a good look at his old boss. When Jeremy finally found something he could use, it was already too late. Just as Blaire turned for a nearby table, where it appeared a small knife had been left, the male rounded the corner that Jeremy had passed by only moments before.

Jeremy watched in horror and disgust as the man’s face lit up in a smile when spotting him. The effects of the Morphogenic Engine were obvious. Most patients suffered permanent scarring only a few weeks into the exposure to the videos and immediate deformities when placed within the machine itself. The former therapist was no exception to this rule.

“There you are…” The male breathed out a sigh of relief and began to approach Jeremy with open arms, as though they were good, old friends. “Where were you off to Mr. Blaire? We weren’t finished with our little chat just yet…” The glint of scissors in his pursuer's hand caught Jeremy’s eye and he backed up further.

As the man followed, he came into the light and revealed the extent of the damage that exposure to the Morphogenic Engine had caused. Jeremy had seen the sunken faces of patients and even heard of a few that had open festering wounds on their bodies from the testing, so he was not at all surprised by what he saw but cringed in disgust all the same. The man looked as though he’d been burnt, badly burnt. The majority of his face was covered in ugly scarring and inflamed marks from where the flames had most harshly burned him. These marks followed down his body, from what Jeremy could see at least the entire left side of the man’s body had fallen victim to the red scars. Still he smiled, stretching his burnt skin tight, and approached Jeremy as though he could not feel the pain he _must_ have been in.

“You see, Mr. Blaire? All you had to do was open up a little.” He spoke pleasantly, approaching Jeremy with an easy going smile. Jeremy remembered a time when that smile had been even less focused. A good-natured airhead with only thoughts of his patients in mind – an idiot in Jeremy’s eyes. However in days past that smile brought more annoyance about in Jeremy than it encouraged fear, he would have much preferred mild irritation to the panic he felt now.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Sinclair!” Jeremy barked, making a mad dash for the knife he’d seen. The formerly sane therapist caught the action and at the same time lunged for Jeremy.

Mercifully Jeremy did not stop to threaten or make further demands. The moment his fingers closed around the knife he turned and slashed blindly at his attacker.

There was a cry of agony and Jeremy saw a sudden splash of blood hit the wall – he’d got Sinclair.

Shrieking his rage and pain, Sinclair backed up with his hands grappling uselessly at his split face. Jeremy stood panting, staring at his handiwork. Diagonally across the variant’s face Jeremy had left a large cut, it bled profusely and judging by the screams Sinclair was releasing it was a deep wound.

When Jeremy looked at this pathetic, pitiful version of the variant he’d been fleeing from – he could see a bit of the man that had been in there before he’d been committed to the asylum.

He could still remember the young therapist with a dazed smile and only the best intentions. He could still see the reckless man that bent rules for patients, the foolish man who thought befriending other workers in the asylum to be a good idea – the idiot that landed himself a permanent place in Mount Massive Asylum.

“ _You_ …!” Sinclair snarled through clenched teeth, his naturally friendly faced twisting into a hateful scowl. His teeth were bared and when Jeremy caught sigh of the younger man's wide, crazed eyes, he was positive he felt his heart stop. For a split second that he and the variant locked gazes – Jeremy understood that Sinclair wasn’t going to stop. Not for this, not while he could still stand, not until he was dead.

“You loathsome, egotistical little man!” The calm control was gone and every word Sinclair spat was overflowing with unbridled hatred. “I try my best to mend you, to mend them – I try, and I _try_! I gave you a chance didn’t I? I tried to redeem you, to fix you, but--!” Slowly Sinclair staggered upright, one hand still pressed to his heavily bleeding face. “But you’ve ruined everything. You, Mr. Blaire, you took everything from me, from us. You took broken men and made monsters.”

Jeremy had more than enough of this, he turned to run. Sinclair let out a screech, it barely even sounded human, and despite his considerable injuries, he lunged again for Jeremy.

The sound of Sinclair’s sudden mad scuffle was enough to alert Jeremy and he turned back slightly, not willing to let Sinclair blindside him. However as he shifted back to face the crazed former therapist, Jeremy was met with only pain.

Sudden searing white pain shot up through his body from his side. Blaire barely understood what happened until he saw the sick smirk crawling up onto Sinclair’s blood stained face. “Ah, looks like I got you this time, sir.”

Slowly Jeremy’s gaze slipped down to the place that the pain was most intense and there he saw Sinclair’s scissors protruding from his side. Already blood was beginning to overflow from the puncture wound and stain Blaire’s clothes.

Finally a strangled sound of horror ripped from Jeremy’s throat and as if to reward his cry of pain, Sinclair _twisted_.

“My, my, Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair whispered, his tone dropping into a low purr now that the two of them were in such close proximity. The overwhelming smell of Sinclair’s blood clouded Jeremy’s senses, and he could see nothing but red. The red of Sinclair’s bleeding face and the dull crimson of the burn marks – all of it blinded him. “Do you perhaps not like the monsters you’ve created?”

That sick grin remained on Sinclair’s face as he watched Jeremy try to pry the scissors out of his side. He wasn’t done with Jeremy just yet.

“That’s fine, you’ll be my perfect patient.”

…  
…

Gritting his teeth, Jeremy forced himself to keep on moving and try to leave those memories behind. That freak was dead, along with the rest of those fuckers – he just had to remember that and maybe the fear would eventually subside. Now as he dragged himself away from the ruins of all his hard work – Jeremy Blaire was able to wholeheartedly admit that, yes, they’d created monsters.

And it just so happened one of those monsters had stabbed its creator.

The memory brought back the painful sting of an injury not caused by the Walrider. With his hand clutching the side that Sinclair had torn a hole in with those annoying little fucking scissors, Blaire found himself stumbling off to the side of the dirt road. A moment later with the world still spinning in and out of view, Blaire finally gave up the battle of holding down his lunch and rejected all the substance left in his stomach. When there was nothing left to dispel, his body continued to demand Jeremy cough and choke, going so far as to have him vomit up what he could only guess was stomach acid. 

A few more minutes of gagging and dry-heaving, and Jeremy collapsed onto his knees. He was covered in literally every type of liquid one could imagine by this point, he even had tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes from the burn of the acid crawling its way up through his throat.

He was a mess.

Blaire knew that and despised every inch of himself for allowing his existence to fall into such a decrepit state. A mountain of ‘should haves’ flooded his mind as he sat on the cold, filthy ground. He should have killed Park outright the moment he suspected even the tiniest hint of rebellion. He should have kept the reigns tighter on Billy Hope’s progress. He could have kept Rick out of the Walrider program. Should have committed the fucking therapist earlier than he did, should have just shot him between the eyes before he could be crazy enough to dare stab him. He should have just done _better_.

He was going to do better.

Jeremy refused to sit here on the disgusting ground and let his own body rot away into nothing more than a heap of ragged old bones. Slowly, on shaky legs, Jeremy forced himself back up. He needed to cling to a nearby tree to stop from falling again. Jeremy knew the closest civilised settlement was at least fifteen miles away. Fifteen miles…? That amount of distance and time with his shattered body? Even with his considerably damaged mind and body, Jeremy knew that the walk would have taken him roughly five to six hours in good health – he wasn’t one to rush usually so maybe he could have made it in four hours if he’d tried?

Five hours was bad enough with the rapid pace of which he was losing strength but with the slow shamble he was able to manage, it was entirely possible he’d be looking at double that time. He couldn’t make that. Jeremy knew he couldn’t make that, but he continued to hobble along all the same. The alternative was lying down to die…he couldn’t. No, he just _wouldn’t_ let himself become road kill.

So Jeremy continued to drag himself through the thick forest surrounding the asylum. It was a whim that kept him away from the road, the sense of danger that came with being out in the open keeping him a fair distance from any well traveled track. It never occurred to him that he might get lost and turn that possible twelve hours into days. But it was this thoughtless choice that kept Jeremy Blaire out of the sight of a single black car that drove up towards the asylum. Its lights were off and it moved more quietly than one would expect given the roughness of the track leading up to the asylum gates.

Blaire barely even noticed it when they passed, just as those in the car did not see his crippled form limping in the other direction.

What Jeremy did notice was the asylum – going up in flames.

It wasn’t the light or the distant crackling of fire that caught Jeremy’s attention, his mind too numb and hazy to pick up on those things, it was the smell. The smell of burning wood, paper, bodies. The scent of everything burning away. When Jeremy dared to look back he saw a beacon of light. The entire asylum had been lit up and even though Jeremy had put a fair distance between himself and the asylum by now – a _considerable_ amount of distance with his injuries – the former executive swore he could feel the heat of it on his skin.

And as he watched the hellhole burn, Jeremy felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

The evidence, the freaks inside, they’d all burn. The things he and Murkoff had wanted to hide away for the sake of profit and self-protection were now rotting and burning. There would be nothing left to tie them to the disaster that had unfolded there.

Jeremy knew it would be Murkoff destroying evidence, when things got too rough there was always a last resort like this. It was entirely possible that Murkoff would never get found out for this, how could they be caught? With all that money, influence and no hard evidence to prove they’d been involved in anything shady – Murkoff was untouchable.

However all of that, still did not make Jeremy any readier to go and find his employers. It was likely he’d end up being tossed into that fire as well if he was to show his face now. No, he had to keep moving and look out for his own skin until everything had settled and he was able to better gauge the situation.

All that was on Jeremy’s mind now was surviving the night, surviving at all. The awkward, agonising walk through the forest gradually became a constant pain, a constant shuffle he wasn’t even consciously forcing anymore. If there was such a thing as autopilot, Jeremy had found it.

The world moved fluidly around him, shifting in and out of focus as Jeremy struggled to stay in a straight line. The trees he reached out to for balance seemed to slip away from under his fingers, vanishing and reappearing as his world tilted to one side and twisted in on itself. A few times Jeremy felt as though he’d be sick again but he had nothing left to throw up and so at random intervals he would let out a choking sound as his body stubbornly tried to make him reject things from his stomach that just weren’t there.

Between the delirious mumbling and dry-heaving breaks, Jeremy was becoming gradually aware of the futility of his efforts. Fifteen miles? He would be lucky to make three, hell he’d be lucky to take three more steps. A glance down at his ruined legs told Blaire that he had reopened one of the haphazard stitches he’d been given and now he was leaving a particularly heavy trail of blood behind him. Dully in the back of his mind Jeremy recognised this development as the thing that would probably kill him. He was already dizzy from pain, a probably devastating concussion and now massive amount of blood loss. Jeremy missed the days when he blood stayed _in_ his body and he was able to watch others bleed out instead – better days.

His body was falling into disrepair and his brain knew it. So what did his mind do to keep a man on his last legs moving? It motivated him.

 _“You can’t die yet.”_ Jeremy was sure he was going insane himself, hearing voices like a memory in the back of his head. _“Not yet…we’re not finished just yet Mr. Blaire. I'm going to help you.”_ He remembered that voice, that eerily pleasant tone chasing him down the asylum halls.

Sinclair.

“ _Run_.”

His legs would not physically allow Blaire the sweet bliss of running but they kept moving and that was about the next best thing. Logically he concluded that Sinclair had burnt with the rest of those fuckers back in the asylum, but his mind was really pushing that motivation idea and Jeremy wasn’t about to stop and reason it out. He would be lodging a formal complaint about its choice of motivation when he was once again conscious enough to formulate one. Why couldn’t it have picked something like Trager or money to motivate him? Why did it have to pick some nutter from the asylum and rely on fear tactics?

Well…it was Jeremy Blaire’s mind. Fear tactics is what he did best.

So they continued the agonised struggle down the mountain, towards the slim hope that there would be salvation at the bottom. Seconds turned to minutes and gradually into hours. He lost track of time somewhere around the first or second hour of walking. He knew his destination, a small town at the base of the mountain, someplace just discreet enough to avoid immediate suspicion, hopefully a place with a ready supply of medical equipment. Jeremy did not make it to the town he had in mind, the one that by all rights was still another two or three hours away.

Instead Blaire found himself almost walking headfirst into a wall. The realisation that there was something solid blocking his path momentarily went by unregistered in his mind and Jeremy’s autopilot began to move him around the wooden door he’d almost smacked into. It took a few seconds but finally...a wooden _door_.

Shaking his head to clear it Jeremy refocused his eyes, finally able to bring what had been a murky outline of a building into focus. His first reaction was to let out a low groan of annoyance, he’d found himself the most haunted house one could have stumbled across in the forest. It was in a worse state than the bleeding, broken man standing at its door. Parts of the wooden structure had broken away, bits of mould and vegetation were growing out of the crevices, and Jeremy swore that he could actually see attempts to repair the house with old sticks and gum. It was a pathetic, cliché looking cabin in the woods, but it was shelter and just going by the appearance it would be abandoned.  
That or he’d be bunking with a homeless serial killer. Well at this point the only difference between Blaire and such a person was a bath and with all the blood on him, Blaire was cutting it pretty close.

“If there’s a house…” Jeremy rasped, unaware of just how cracked and dry his own voice was until he used it. “Then that means that the town isn’t far off either.”

Vaguely he tried to remember how long he’d been walking but all Jeremy could remember was a blurred image of his own two feet being put in front of him, one dying step at a time. It wasn’t really his ideal image of a five star hotel but his legs were aching and he was sure that he was one drop of blood away from being drained dry – so this would have to do.

Blaire quietly thanked christ when the door was unlocked and slid open with a simple push of his hand, the one not torn all to buggery. Inside the house wasn’t much more appealing than the outside. The cobwebs were sinful and Blaire could definitely smell something rotting under the floorboards. All the same he stepped inside, ignoring the wail of complaint from the wooden floor as he stepped on its disused surface. It was dark inside the house but it was also dry and considerably warmer than Blaire had expected, a welcome relief.

His first action was to wander through the halls, peeking into each room he passed. He found the kitchen and dining room at the end of the hall, what he guessed had been a living room at some point and a small storage closet. Nothing exhilarating but he wasn’t looking for comfort, he was looking for any signs that the house had other occupants that would need to be given the boot. And if they didn’t want to leave…what was one more body to the Murkoff tally?

There were a set of stairs that Jeremy did not entirely trust to walk up. Tentatively he took the first step, cringing when it let out a low groan of complaint under his weight – but the staircase held. Upstairs was considerably smaller than the rest of the house, it consisted of two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was the bathroom that sent a wave of relief through Blaire, if there was medical equipment in the house it would be in the bathroom – or at the very least some painkillers.

What he found was fairly promising. Some bandages still tightly wrapped and clean, besides the dust that had gathered on them, and various pills. Some for pain, others for colds – they even had some antibodies in here. The small box he’d been able to pull from the bathroom cupboard also had disinfectant and a few small objects like tweezers and scissors. At first Jeremy was relieved but when he saw the glint of the scissors a familiar dread coiled in his stomach. He wouldn’t be touching those for a while.

The first thing Jeremy did was swallow a mouthful of painkillers. He probably took too many too fast but if Jeremy was going to overdose on anything – it wouldn’t be painkillers. Once he forced the pills down his throat dry, the feeling akin to swallowing dust and razors, he turned his attention on what he could do for his ruined body. The arm that dangled uselessly at his side was his first concern. He did not want to have to function with only one arm in the future but when he took a look at the mangled limb he knew that it wouldn’t be helping him any time soon.

Again Blaire noticed the patch-up job someone had done on him. The stitches he’d managed not to pull were still angry and inflamed – no doubt having been done with a dirty needle from the asylum. Chunks of his flesh were still missing and Blaire swore a few of the bones in his hand had been crushed. All he could do for the time being was to wash away what blood and grime he could, and disinfect the area. Every little action he took, every touch he laid on his own arm sent another sharp shock of pain up his neck but Blaire, with low guttural snarls of pain, pushed on forward.

His legs were in a similar state, but still functioning though he was sure that his ankle had to be broken, or at the very least sprained…and here he was walking on it. There wasn’t really an option but Jeremy cringed just thinking about the extra damage he’d probably done to himself.

The best Jeremy could manage before the doziness of the painkillers hit him, was to splash disinfectant over his poorly done stitches- an action that had him spitting curses at the top of his lungs. The painkillers did little to dull the burn of the antiseptic liquid. Next he managed to replace a few of the bandages on his legs. Pulling away the shreds of patient uniform that had been used to bind him up was a gruelling task. Some of his wounds were deep enough and fresh enough that they fused to their coverings, forcing Jeremy to reopen some areas of his body and watch as his freshly healing skin was pulled away with the cloth. Whoever had been kind enough the patch him up was going to die for it – Jeremy was going to fucking kill them when this was over.

In the empty house Jeremy could hear his own pain filled grunts and moans echoing back to him, but still he worked away. He’d seen this done before, seen patients in worse shape get fixed up by well trained doctors. But Jeremy wasn’t a doctor, he was simply mimicking the actions he’d observed and hoping it would be enough.

He did what he had to do, because there was nothing else he could do.

With the bandages changed to fresher coverings for the most part and a majority of his body still burning from the liquid fire that was disinfectant, Jeremy finally stopped.

He was out of fuel, he couldn’t do any more…this was the best he could do for now. Stumbling out of the grimly little bathroom, Jeremy made for the bathroom closest to him. He barely looked around the room, didn’t bother looking for danger or insects as he locked his eyes on the bed pushed up by the far wall. It could have been half a mattress with cockroaches for stuffing and Blaire still would have taken it gladly.

His body finally seemed to decide it’d had enough just as he reached the bed and seemingly out of nowhere, it dropped him.

The painful fog that had settled into Blaire’s mind had faded to a dull roar in the back of his mind, but he was still able to deduce that his body was beginning to shut down now. Blood loss and the shock he was in finally catching up with him. But he’d made it. He’d found a house to collapse in, even a bed to fall on. Oh sure it was full of dust and spiders but it was a considerable upgrade from the forest floor.

As Jeremy’s eyes slipped shut he was distinctly aware of the possibility he’d never wake up. He might die the moment consciousness left him…but he’d done everything he possibly could have. He hadn’t given up and just waited to die.

For all the things that could be said about him, nobody could ever say that Jeremy Blaire was a fucking quitter.

And should he wake up again, he’d have to once again force himself to try and survive. Some part of him knew death would be easier than this hell but the rest refused to give up so easily. So as the darkness came to take him, Blaire decided that no matter the outcome, if he lived to see the next day or died in the coming seconds – he wouldn’t care.

_If only Blaire had died._


	3. Friends Like These

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Remember that Oc mention? Yeah, thats happening.
> 
> After this chapter more interesting things are going to start happening.

Jeremy was alive.  
_God fucking damn i--!_

First came the confusion.

The murky mess of thoughts and fleeting, blurred images of his surroundings gradually slipped into Jeremy’s consciousness. For a while be barely knew his own name, let alone why he was in this dusty, decrepit looking room and even when the memories did begin to return they did so slowly and with little meaning.

Next came feeling.

The sensation of his stomach beginning to turn on itself, letting the acid eat away at the lining of his stomach causing a sickly feeling of hollowness to swallow Blaire up. More concerning was the increased pain he could feel from his arms and legs. The painkillers had dulled enough to allow sleep but the pain had returned with a vengeance.

The sheets he was laying on felt sticky and Jeremy’s sleep muddled mind only vaguely recognized the moisture would be from his wounds bleeding as he slept and for a moment he was still too bogged down in sleep to be alarmed by this. 

And finally there came awareness.

Confusion faded into the back of Jeremy Blaire’s mind as he remembered exactly why he was here. He remembered the asylum, the screaming, the blood, and now most vividly he remembered the fire. He perfectly recalled how it had lit up the area around the mountain and the relief the cleansing fire brought with it. As he lay there, cringing at the sensation of his wounds parting and remolding to the blankets when he moved, Jeremy once again remembered how badly injured he was. 

For a while he did not move. His mind became more alert with every passing second but he was not yet ready to deal with the bullshit that had to come. He could feel his legs, raw flesh and blood sticking to the sheets around him, and his mangled arm lay uselessly by his head. As Jeremy lay on the dusty, vermin filled mattress, he allowed his mind to wander. 

Usually he wouldn’t bother letting trivial, seemingly pointless thoughts float through his mind. He was too busy, too disciplined for that sort of nonsense, and most importantly Murkoff wouldn't stand for stray thoughts. Private thoughts were the key to rebellion, a thought of disobedience was as good as having committed a crime with one’s own hands.

Jeremy Blaire knew this because he enforced the punishment for those that dared let their mind wander too far too often. Idiots like Waylon Park got killed because of their inability to remain focused on a single goal, because they dared to think ‘why’ and ‘what if’.

But there was no Murkoff here.

There was no one to keep an eye on Blaire’s every little action and thought. For the first time in years Jeremy was left completely to his own deceives. The thought did not make him sad at all. Loneliness was a novel feeling that Jeremy had not experienced in many years – he’d enjoy the simplicity of it for a while longer. 

As his mind began to sort through seemingly pointless thoughts, Jeremy became aware of sunlight filtering in through the crabby little window across the room. It was gentle, lighting up every little speck of dust in its path across the wooden floor towards the bed. Jeremy found himself staring at it with a sort of fascination he wasn’t aware he could muster for something so mundane. But that was _why_ it caught his attention. It was mundane, innocent, something one experienced every day and did not need to look at a second time.

That single beam of light signified everything that Jeremy did not have or need, and simultaneously everything that Park had desired. It was both agitating and baffling to Jeremy. That single beam of light could not buy him food, nor could it give him any of the things he’d need for simple survival but he knew that it was something many of the patients and employees had wanted. A simple sign that not everything was stained with darkness, that there was still some warmth and light left in the world – that one day they’d be able to see the sun and not be behind fences.

When thinking about this he remembered overhearing some of the workers talking about summer. Prattling on about the thought of the warm days to come with the hope of a break from work. He even remembered what one of them had said at the time. 

“It’s because the sun is warm, and the asylum is cold.” Jeremy repeated spitefully, groaning as his voice sent him a painful reminder that he hadn’t had anything to drink since the riot. How long ago was that now? Three days maybe? How long he'd slept and how many hours had passed since everything went to shit, was all lost on Jeremy right then. 

If the stiffness of his joints and thin layer of crust that was forming over the injuries on his arm was anything to go by, Jeremy assumed he’d slept well past a single night. If it had been two or three days he’d slept, the former executive couldn’t be sure. However the horrible growling of his stomach and dryness of his throat told him that no matter the exact amount of time, it had already been too long.

The emptiness of his stomach was eventually enough to force Blaire to get moving.

Just like the first time he’d woken up after Walrider made a ragdoll of him, Blaire found it incredibly hard to even sit up straight. A wave of nausea hit him when he finally righted himself, almost causing Jeremy to vomit. He would have as well, if he’d not lost all the contents of his stomach the last time he was awake. Chasing after the dizziness came a sickly sweet smell one that turned Jeremy’s insides cold. It wasn’t quite the scent of flesh rotting. Not that same ungodly smell of decay that had clung to the asylum towards the end, but it wasn’t far off. This was not comforting.

Knowing that the sickening scent was coming from his injured legs, Jeremy hesitated in removing the sheet that had haphazardly been dragged over him. He was aware that sitting there staring blankly at the covering blanket wouldn’t make the problem go away, but just for a few seconds he needed to gather his nerve. 

When he finally reached for the blanket and peeled back the coarse fabric to see his legs, Jeremy felt both relief and disgust.

The bandages he’d applied before collapsing were stained to the point that they appeared to have been made of red and yellow fabric rather than the original white. From a glance Jeremy could see his wounds were leaning more to towards infection than healing. His leg, the one he knew to be broken by the Walrider was swelling painfully and the dull ache in his chest reminded Jeremy that at least two ribs had been fractured as well.

Fear settled in. 

What could he do if he couldn’t walk at all this time? The limited amount of medical supplies he’d found would perhaps help to slow the rate of decay and keep some infections at bay but they wouldn’t be able to reset the bone in his leg and Jeremy’s unskilled hands didn’t look that much more up to the task. He didn’t even know what one was supposed to do about a broken rib. 

In the back of his mind he could vaguely remember Rick rambling on about this sort of thing – he wished that he’d actually paid some attention to his friend’s ravings. He was able to pick out something along the lines of ‘ _nothing to do about it_ ,’ leaving Rick’s mouth. He hoped that was the case with his ribs, rather than some of the less favorable things he’d heard Rick mention.

More to the point, there wouldn’t be any food around here. Anything that could have been left in the kitchen was no doubt well past its use-by date and while Jeremy might be able to find some small rodents or bugs – he wasn’t going to debase himself by eating rats raw. No, there had to be a better option available.

Deciding he needed to see what he had to work with, Jeremy slowly dragged his sore legs to the edge of the bed. Once he placed his feet against the filthy ground, Jeremy let out a sigh of relief when he felt some strength in his legs. However when he applied pressure to the leg suffering a shattered bone, he let out a low groan of agony. Now that his mind was clearer and the painkillers faded, the pain felt sharper and more focused in certain places. He wasn’t being driven by the primal urge to simply run – now he had to think.

There was still the thought of the town at the base of Mount Massive. Jeremy was not keen on the thought of continuing the grueling hike towards town but the possibility of food and more painkillers eventually won him over on the idea. If he was going to make the track to the town, Jeremy decided he’d need to gear himself up properly for the trip. 

The following minutes were spent seeking out a suitable stick to help remove the weight from Jeremy’s most horribly damaged leg, and gathering up the few painkillers he had left. By the end of his hunting, Jeremy was fairly pleased with himself. The pain still lingered but with the promise of relief through the painkillers – which he had taken in moderation this time – and the helpfulness of his chosen stick, the whole ordeal seem that much more bearable. In reality the stick wasn’t actually from a tree, he’d managed to find a rusted pipe laying jammed up against the fall wall of the bathroom when he’d gone to retrieve his painkillers. It had a disgusting smell to it and Jeremy noticed it left rust on his hands when he held it – but it was sturdy and he needed the support, so it would have to do.

As Jeremy hobbled downstairs, he only now began to marvel at his own good fortune. One in his position might not be so inclined to see themselves as ‘fortunate’ but he truly was. The house was in itself a godsend. The fact he’d stumbled across it when he did seemed too good to be true, and as such he was weary of it. Nothing in this world came for free, nothing was an honest, genuine, no strings attached gift. So even the mere presence of the house unnerved Blaire to some extent. It wouldn’t have surprised him if a serial killer happened to frequent the shack, maybe he could find a camera in town and document everything. That seemed to be the done thing around here.

Wouldn’t that be something, Blaire staring in a Blaire Witch movie. _Fucking hilarious_. 

With a small disgruntle growl Jeremy pushed that irritating joke aside. If he began to find amusement in bullshit like that he might as well just kill himself right now. However, it might not be a bad idea to record what he did, it seemed as though cameras could be surprisingly useful in such dire situations.

Briefly Blaire remembered having seen Park holding up a camcorder in their few encounters during the asylum. That thought brought up a feeling of rage in Blaire as he left the house behind him. Stepping out into the forest foliage again, it was light out, it seemed to be late morning or early midday, Jeremy would need to turn back when it looked like it was getting dark. He wasn’t going to let himself get caught out alone in the words at night. Taking a moment to commit the image of the rundown house to memory along with its general location, Jeremy finally began to head downwards – it was his best bet of finding the town, and as he painstakingly made his way in the general direction of ‘down’, Jeremy thought of Park.

He’d clung to that camcorder like it was life itself, Jeremy realized now that in a way it was. Park had wanted to bring Murkoff to a grinding halt even before the riot, and after the horrors that took place in the past few days – he now had more than enough evidence on that camera. Well he had when Jeremy encountered him at the asylum entrance – Jeremy doubted that Waylon would have survived his injuries and even if he had, the Walrider would have made short work of the rest of him.

There was no reason to worry about that silly little camera that Park had on him. Likely the Walrider had destroyed it as well. Still, Jeremy reflected on that last act of defiance in Park, that small resistance he’d held onto even as the world went to hell around him. Why bother? Jeremy could not understand it, Waylon had risked everything for a little camera, for the slim chance he might be able to throw some dirt in Murkoff’s eye. Was hurting Murkoff really that important to Park?

No matter which angle Jeremy looked at it, the action was meaningless – insane. 

Somehow Waylon Park had always puzzled and infuriated him. From the very first time they met he’d decided that he’d never see things from Park’s perspective.

 

…  
…

  

When a new worker enters Murkoff’s employment, Jeremy Blaire knows.

He knows because it is his job to know, no name goes unnoticed, no new face unseen – Blaire does not allow any holes in his absolute control of the asylum, it is his job to know and so he does. 

And when Waylon Park got contracted into Murkoff, Blaire was the first to know and the first not to care.

What was one more lamb wandering around? It didn’t matter so long as Park did his job, kept quiet and eventually went away. But Jeremy Blaire knew he’d loath Park from the very first moment he heard the techie speak, he knew that Park wasn’t going to follow his securely set order of events.

A two week contract, it wasn’t that difficult a task was it?

Yet here he sat, fidgeting uncomfortably under the scrutiny of Blaire’s gaze. In his hand Jeremy held the contract that Park had signed. It’s rules were quite clear, perhaps a little bit sneaky in their wording and containing a few hidden rules, but clear enough for the most idiotic person to understand the basics.

This contract said that they owned him for the next two weeks, simple as that. 

Still Park had come to complain; or rather Blaire had caught wind of Waylon’s discontentment and thought it’d be best to kill the problem before it became a real irritation.

Glancing between the contract and his new employee, Blaire marveled at the mere fragility of the male’s nature. He was not a fighter that much was obvious. Waylon looked like he was one glare away from fleeing Blaire’s office. Though, in all fairness that was by design.

Word traveled surprisingly quickly through the asylum. Whispers about Blaire’s heartlessness and unrelenting cruelty had obviously reached Park’s ears even if it was only the third day he’d been working. Jeremy had allowed these little snippets of gossip to fly, multiply and gradually twist into a sick version of the truth. If Park had heard that Jeremy punished employees by breaking legs or humiliating them in the most intimate ways – Blaire was sure as hell going to enforce that image. Fear was control and control was power – Jeremy Blaire held all the cards in this arena, Park barely had a one to play. 

Judging by the way Waylon continued to shuffle uneasily where he stood, shifting weight from foot to foot and repeatedly stuffing his hands into his pockets, only to remove them a moment later – these rumors had done their job. 

Satisfied that Waylon Park had begun to fear him before they’d even properly met, Blaire lowered the contract and smiled. His seemingly pleasant expression only served to alarm Park further and Jeremy almost chuckled when the blood drained from Park’s face. 

“Now, Mr. Park.” Jeremy began leisurely, keeping the usual air of cool confidence around him as he spoke. “A few people have been telling me that there’s some grievances you’d liked to express?” Finally Jeremy dropped the contract and neatly joined his fingers together on top the desk as he observed Waylon’s anxious twitching.

 _Complain_. Jeremy thought viciously behind his smile, daring Park to openly express his dissatisfaction to him. As Blaire’s predatory gaze kept Park fixed in place, he dearly hoped the man would try it. _Go on, spit it out._

“Sir…” Waylon finally managed to speak up, dangerously close to stuttering as he did. “It’s my family.” Jeremy could have banged his head on the desk.

His _family_? Was that really the first thing he had to whine about?

Jeremy was getting fucking tired of employees complaining about this. Always moaning and bitching about contact with the outside world and loved ones. No one was allowed to speak with the outside world, it was too risky, even a toddler could have wrapped their brain around the simple concept.

If that was all these worms had to complain about, Jeremy was not interested in listening. Their families? Who gave a shit about not being able to chat with a wife every now and then? They acted like it was painful to be separated, as though not being able to talk to a spouse for some time was like losing them forever. They were all weak.

And here Blaire had to deal with genuine loss.

What the fuck would any of them know about loss when their wives were at home with children and friends, when somewhere downstairs there was the only person Blaire had ever paused to give a toss about – _screaming_.

Gritting his teeth, Blaire took a moment to calm himself enough to speak reasonably with Park. Despite how he might feel about the little idiot of a techie, Jeremy still needed him to work till the end of his contract and cause as little commotion as possible – so out came the political smile. “I understand Mr. Park.”

Blaire lied through his teeth. “It must be difficult for you.” He, of course, thought Waylon was pathetic. “But try to be reasonable.”

 _You stupid fuck_.  

“Two weeks is hardly any reason to complain, once your time here is finished I’m sure your wife and children will be overjoyed to see you. After all, distance makes the heart grow fonder – no?”

The bastard still did not look satisfied, or at the very least, oppressed enough to pretend otherwise. Frustration gnawed at Blaire’s insides and he allowed a small slip up – needing to express some of his irritation so as not to explode later down the line.

“Is there still a problem, Park?” Blaire asked sharply, dropping the ‘Mr.’ in his agitation.  “What exactly is it that’s causing you such grief? What else could trouble you so deeply that you’d come into my office?” _And waste my time_ , went unsaid.

Blaire was not expecting the abruptness of Waylon’s response.

“It’s the facility sir, and the patients.”

Jeremy caught himself just in time to mask his surprise. Of course he’d expected this to be the answer but at the same time he’d also assumed that Waylon would stumble over it, make excuses, skirt around the topic or maybe not say it at all. His honesty was, frankly, quite alarming.

“W-Well…” Waylon quickly backtracked in the silence. “I’ve spoken to a few of the other workers an-and…they talk about the patient’s treatment. I-I mean I just thought…”

This was the stuttering, nervous Waylon Park that Blaire had read about in his files. That reassured him somewhat, still Jeremy was suspicious of these ‘ _other workers’_ he already had a fair idea of who Park was referring to and exactly what they would be saying.

However, what was perhaps most surprising was the fact that Waylon had been talking with any of the other employees at all.

It had been an unspoken rule since the day Park arrived that people would not like him. Jeremy had of course issued this silent command himself, having decided that the peppy little tech-head needed to be taken down a notch or two. The idea that anyone would risk their own skin to interact with Park in a friendly manner stepped on Jeremy’s nerves. It was by no means a crime but it seemed to undermine Jeremy’s authority – he couldn’t have that now could he?

“What concern is that of yours Park?” Jeremy responded smoothly, not bothering to keep the ice from his tone. “You’re a techie, the patients are of no consequence to you.”

Waylon looked alarmed and Blaire saw the way his shoulders tensed. Waylon knew damn well that the patients had no weight on his own work, he should just keep his head down and ignore the things that went on in the asylum.

“Moreover, discussion between patients and doctors should remain confidential.” Jeremy had to stop his smile from twisting into a smirk when he saw the dread crawling up onto Park’s face.

The threat was subtle enough but Waylon seemed to understand, he did not want his new ‘friends’ to be in Jeremy’s line of sight because of his carelessness. It was too late for that, Jeremy had already been keeping an eye on Sinclair for some time now – he was becoming a pest and all pests ended up in the same spot.

Down below, strapped down and screaming their lungs out.

There was only one nuisance that Blaire found himself unable to shake. A brief mental image of the Warden’s stoic face entered Jeremy’s mind and while suppressing a shiver, he fought it off. If it had been another employee or even another executive, Blaire was certain he could have snaked his way around setting up their demise. But the Warden was all but untouchable.

One problem at a time Blaire. One at a time. 

“If that’s all…” Jeremy spoke up again, his tone dipping back into condescendingly courteous as he once again found his area of comfort. He let the words hang in the air, both an instruction for Park to get the hell out and a hook – baiting Park to try biting again.

Park was smart enough to keep his trap shut. At least the idiot had the good sense to look out for his own skin. A bunch of raving lunatics being a little uncomfortable was not worth opposing Jeremy Blaire. This should have sufficiently satisfactory, but something about Park’s face continued to agitate him.

That slightly sympathetic look, the expression of despair he barely tried to hide. Jeremy had seen other employees wear similar faces when being dealt with but Park’s wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t self-pitying regret or even anger towards Blaire for fucking him over – it was a pity felt for someone else.  Even now Waylon was giving his sympathy to the patients at Mount Massive Asylum.

Jeremy wasn’t going to stand for that either. 

“Mr. Park.” Waylon had been heading for the door, head lowered with that infuriating look of compassion about him. “I hope you understand their position, just as you must know yours. The patients here are ill, perhaps not ill in the sense you’ve come to understand but sick nonetheless. They’re murders, rapists, cannibals, abusers – if you can name it one of them has done it.”

Waylon seemed to be physically sickened by Jeremy’s words. Good, he should feel disgusted. Personally he didn’t care what the patients had done, but they must repulse a weak hearted person like Waylon – there was no room for sympathy here.

“You see, there is no need for concern. They’re being treated more kindly than they deserve. Rather than rotting in prison or being culled, they’re here to be _cured_. It’s a gift that they be given that much mercy. I guarantee it's more than they would afford you given the chance, Mr. Park."

Waylon had his hand on the door handle and Jeremy could see how his breath caught in his throat. Fear kept his words muted, he knew he should blindly agree and escape – that would have been the clever thing to do. But Park ended up muttering words that dug their way under Jeremy’s skin, yanking at nerves he hardly knew he had.

“They’re just people…”

“What was that?” Jeremy hissed, unable to keep the slight snarl from his voice. Waylon tensed and did not turn back to face his furious boss.

“Sorry to bother you.” Waylon replied, acting as though he’d not accidently let the previous words slip by him. With that he finally took his escape, fleeing from Mr. Blaire’s office as quickly as his skinny, techie legs could carry him. The sound of the door shutting behind him was quiet, Waylon not even bold enough to slam it on the way out.

He’d tried to cover up his mistake but Jeremy had heard it. The three familiar words furiously burning away in his mind. That achingly familiar sentiment he hated to hear. Just people he'd said.

Just. People.

_Sinclair._

In a small burst of rage, Jeremy smashed his fist on his desk, sending a few loose items flying in his fit. That was _it_ , last chance and straw in one moment. 

That fucking therapist was twisting Blaire’s patience into unrelenting knots. His every action grating on Blaire’s nerves but never being enough to warrant any sort of formalized punishment. Even now Jeremy had nothing solid to use against the infuriating therapist but he’d have to find a workaround.

Sinclair had to go – he had to go now, one more day and Jeremy was going to strangle the therapist himself. 

With his hands balled into tight fists, Jeremy scowled at the wooden desk in front of him. The documents, with Park’s file among them, suddenly lost their urgency. They’d be here when he was done attending to this one little annoyance that could no longer be ignored.

His papers would stay here and Sinclair was going to find his new home underground – strapped into the Morphogenic Engine.

 

…  
…

 

Perhaps that had been one of his first mistakes.

One mistake followed up by three or four more in the days that came after it. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, throw anything that posed a threat into the lower levels of the asylum, it had appeared to be a perfection solution. All it did in the end was create more crazies to worry about. Carzies that held a particular dislike for him later down the line. One bearing those fucking scissors and the other had a sword. A _sword_ for christ's sake _._  Jeremy should have just put a bullet between their eyes rather than a sleeping dart, Murkoff would have been pissed but they’d covered up worse atrocities in the past.

It was one thing for Sinclair to sprout that compassionate nonsense about the patients, but to hear it come out of Waylon Park’s mouth as well had damn near driven Blaire out of his damn mind. Why was it any concern of Park’s? Caring about his wife and kids was perhaps slightly understandable, loyalty was important, Jeremy understood that much. But to stick one’s neck out for a bunch of crazies that would sooner skin and eat Waylon than learn his name, well that just made no sense to Jeremy.

Despite the frustration and confusion these thoughts prompted, he was relieved to have been so focused on them when his feet hit something other than grass and twigs. The abrupt change in texture jostled Jeremy from his thoughts and the sight of solid, man-made road under his feet was a welcome relief. 

With a glance up Jeremy was able to guess this was a main road. A single stretch of solid tar leading in both directions, cutting a path through the otherwise impenetrable forest. If Jeremy were to guess he’d assume that this was the road down the mountain to the town, so all he had to do was follow it and he’d eventually find himself some semblance of civilised living. 

The walk on a proper road came more easily than his awkward shuffle through the bush land. Jeremy would have immediately started moving again had he not remembered the importance of finding his way back to the house. It wasn’t his first pick for accommodation but it had a few important traits he couldn’t afford to pass up. First of all it was abandoned, meaning he wouldn’t have to fight to keep it or actively hide, and secondly it was a fair distance from the town and remains of the asylum, meaning it would be a good place to lay low without the risk of nosy kids or police snooping around. 

With all this in mind, Jeremy turned back to look at the path he’d come from. He could just make out the signs of the path he’d made and was confident that once he reached this spot on the return ‘home’ he’d be able to find his way. In need of a sign to tell him where this precise point was, Jeremy ended up unraveling some of the access bandage from his arm and tying it to the closest tree he could find.

The bandage was still sticky with puss and blood, making the removal uncomfortable and with one arm still essentially useless, even wrapping it around the tree was a challenge. Spitting low curses, Jeremy was able to jam that fabric into enough crevices for it to stay in place long enough to tie a proper knot.

Once he was sure that the bandage wasn’t going to simply fall off, Jeremy stepped away to admire his work. It was, of course, utterly disgusting. The bandage was filthy and dotted in red and yellow – revolting to look at but certainly eye catching enough for Jeremy to find when he was heading back.

With a breadcrumb planted, Jeremy turned and continued his voyage in the general direction of ‘down’. With an easier surface to walk on and those painkillers finally bringing much needed relief, the walk became a marginally easier task. It still wouldn’t be making his top ten favorite hikes but it was a considerably better endeavor than the night before had been.

When the first car passed Jeremy, he almost had a heart attack.

Somehow the idea of a car just rolling on by was so startling mundane that he hadn’t expected it. However when he saw it appeared to be an old run down family car, Jeremy felt relieved. Both because it was not Murkoff and it meant he was close to his goal. A car full of kids wouldn’t both venturing up too close to the asylum, not that they’d be granted access past a certain point anyway, so that meant they were down fairly low.

Some part of Blaire cursed the people in that car for not stopping to pick him up, god knows he could have used a rest from walking. But he also knew it’d be foolish to jump in any random hick’s car, so walking continued to be his only option. Briefly Blaire considered conjuring up another distraction in his mind, perhaps one of the late nights spent working with Rick and drinking more than actually working. Or better one of the good days where he got to watch Park fumble and fall over his own two feet, sometimes with an added push from Jeremy.

Any of those memories would have been fine to dwell in but Jeremy found that no matter how he tried, his mind wouldn’t think of anything except the asylum in its final hours. His small remembrance of the breaking point he’d felt before sending Sinclair to the lower levels had brought with it all the memories of just what Sinclair had to say on the matter once he was free to roam the asylum with the rest of those nutters.

Father Martin had been mad, but he’d been a man the patients respected and looked to for guidance. They got scared so they’d turned to religion, to Father Martin. They had been alone and rejected, so they’d accepted the mockery of a priest, even if they did dread the man somewhat.

The Warden had been merciless, but he’d also been someone that the patients related to and trusted. What they held for the Warden was a healthy fear and respect derived from mutual understanding and perhaps even some dependency on his protection. They shared a hatred for the men that had held their shackles and so when the Warden offered them even a shred of understanding many of the patients freely offered up all of themselves in return.

Sinclair...well he had not been like those two. He was neither feared nor respected – he’d been adored.

Something like a child that the patients could dote on, someone that offered warmth and companionship when the asylum was full of hatred and pain. Sinclair wasn’t physically strong or even that frightening at a glance – Gluskin covered those traits sufficiently for all of them – but what he did have was some immunity from a few of the asylum horrors.

The twins wouldn’t harm him likely on Martin’s request and it seemed that even Walker allowed the man to hold his little ‘therapy sessions’ among the patients at times. He was by no means beloved in the asylum – such a thought was laughable – but he was safer than most. The patients that clung to his small acts of compassion before the riot had clung to his guidance in the carnage and they’d been more than happy to try and track Blaire down when Sinclair had asked them to.

Just more reasons to add to the pile of why Blaire hated Sinclair.

Even sending him to the lower levels had not completely eliminated the problem that was Sebastian Sinclair, if anything it’d only caused further complications down the line.

Memories of scissors in his side, _twisting_ , came to Blaire’s mind and he unintentionally brushed his fingers over the side of his torso where the holes were clumsily stitched together. Recollections of passive smiles and laughter also flooded his mind. Warped versions of therapy sessions set his teeth on edge and no matter how desperately Blaire tried to shut out those memories, they continued to tug on the corners of his mind.

“ _Now, you know that this isn’t going to help your recovery at all._ ” Sinclair’s voice rung loud and clear in his head. The words being said at a time when he was firmly strapped into Sinclair’s little interview chair. “ _We’re here to help you Mr. Blaire_.”

Scoffing at the memory alone Jeremy decided to avoid strolling down memory lane for a while. He did not need to have a little rerun of those events, if he ever thought of them again it’d be too soon. But if he could not erase Sinclair from his mind entirely, he could at the very least remember a time when Sinclair was under his boot rather than the situation he’d been in only a few days before.

However, despite all of his efforts, Jeremy could not seem to remember the scenes he wanted. Anything related to the youngest Sinclair brother always ended with either memories of running or the male’s smile.

More than anything Jeremy hated that smile.

Sinclair seemed to a thousand years away before his exposure to the Morphogenic Engine. His smile, while distant and often distracted, was always warm and genuine. Even when things seemed to go horribly wrong for the therapist, or Jeremy would make a point to threaten and reprimand him – the male just kept on smiling.

Perhaps this would not have agitated Jeremy had he thought it was a farce, a smile worn for civil conduct – but it just wasn’t. When Sinclair smiled, no matter how out of place the situation, it was genuine. His soft nature and ridiculously kind heart had dug at Blaire’s nerves from day one.

Waylon and Sebastian were both like that. Waylon, who was so morally sound and righteous, had damn near caused Jeremy to rip his hair out in frustration. Sebastian’s innocent way of smiling and his dedication to his patients was just as bad, but rather than scorning Sinclair, like he did Park, Jeremy just felt uneasy around the therapist.

There was no real reason to think about either of those people anymore though. They were dead, either burned with the fire or taken out by another resident of the asylum.

Waylon Park and Sebastian Sinclair were--

Abruptly that thought was cut off as Jeremy staggered around the bend of the road and was greeted with the welcoming sight of buildings. They were a far cry from city structures but from where Jeremy stood he could very clearly see office buildings and shops, a town that was vaguely familiar to him. He’d rarely needed to leave the asylum but he had passed through this dreary little place on the odd occasion, be it for golfing or going to make a house call to an employee’s disgruntled family.

All he had to do now was find the things he needed. More bandages, pills, food, maybe even some clothes. All of which would have to be stolen. He could not risk a hospital nor could Blaire actually ask someone for help, though this time it had nothing to do with pride. If Murkoff caught wind of his whereabouts, Jeremy was confident they’d have him properly punished for his failures.

It had always been made excruciatingly clear what failure meant in the hands of Murkoff. Shortcomings and disobedience would be met with the same response, and Jeremy didn’t fancy trying his hand at explaining what had happened back at the asylum.

The best of the best, Murkoff accepted nothing less than perfection, and for a time Jeremy Blaire had been just that.

As Jeremy neared the town, he began to shift off the highway, intending to stay out of the main roads and keep mostly to dark corners. He felt like a cockroach, scurrying around in the shadows. It was a filthy, degrading feeling but it was a step up from the alternative – he wasn’t going to opt for death over slight revulsion. 

It was getting close to closing time for most stores around the time, a few more hours and the only places he’d find open would be supermarkets and fast-food joints. No, he needed a proper pharmacy first and then maybe a fresh food outlet, the stores he was sure had the least amount of security and cameras.

Jeremy was aware that he looked like a wreck, if too many people caught sight of him there’d be questions. The blood, the tears in his clothes and bandages would bring far too much attention to his existence. He had to be cautious.

This proved to be incredibly difficult. Thankfully it was in no way peak hour so very few people were wandering around, but the act of going into a store and making off with some merchandise without a single person noticing his obviously suspicious appearance was going to be a chore.

The incredibly frustrating need to check over his shoulder every few seconds was also beginning to wear down Blaire’s nerves. Every little thought and action he had was making him sick to his stomach, all this skulking around, barely better than a common beggar. He’d never had to beg for anything in his entire life, everything was freely taken or given. 

Oh yes, he'd fought tooth and nail to climb the ladder to where he had been in Murkoff. He’d lied, cheated, abused and killed to get where he belonged. But begging had never been part of that game, not for him. An impressive education, set path of success laid out for him should he want it – everything rightfully belonged to him from the day he was born.

And now he was back down at the bottom, lower than he’d been even when he was nothing more than a snivelling brat.

Anger was what kept Jeremy focused. Humiliated, degraded, wounded, Jeremy had forced such experiences onto others in the past and now he took the rage those feelings brought up inside of him, and used it to achieve the things he needed to in order to survive.

Small towns were pitifully trusting, Blaire had little trouble stealing a large, unsightly black jumper. It had just been left outside some brandless little store with a 20% off sign plastered to the rack. If there was a camera to catch him Blaire hardly cared, no one was going to notice the loss of the pathetic piece of clothing and check the recordings.

Once out of sight around the corner Jeremy forced himself to adorn the jumper, it was hideous but it was also a perfect cover. It hid the majority of his bandages and most importantly his face. He still needed the stick to walk and his legs were still visible but this at least gave him some coverage, and as an added bonus he could hide what he stole in its large pockets.

With that taken care of he could turn his attention to more important items. First things first, he needed medical equipment. It took him a bit more time to locate a shop that appeared to be sterile and stocked to the brim with painkillers, but as he sought out the shop he’d also caught sight of a small market like area that was selling food. Perfect, there wouldn’t be any cameras there, so he’d only have to be cautious of prying eyes.

The pharmacy would require a bit more care. Even as Jeremy stepped into the store, he could see three or four cameras posted around. They wouldn’t review the footage unless he made it obvious what he was doing or took enough to arouse suspicion. He had to be fast, in and out, no need to pretend he was browsing. If they never saw him it would be as if he’d never been there at all.

Blaire was in luck – a welcome relief from how the rest of his life seemed to be going – there was only one worker in the store when he entered. A young girl that looked more invested in her phone than he job.

As Blaire pocketed a packet of pills, he felt a familiar sense of resentment coil in his stomach. She should be working, should be focusing all her efforts on being the best, getting a better pay slip, serving her bosses to the best of her ability – not playing solitaire on that tiny fucking screen.

Even though it grated on his nerves, Blaire knew it was better that she was being inattentive and lazy. Her poor work ethic had just given Blaire about eighty dollars worth of equipment. He hardly needed to hurry, picking out the brands he knew and the items he thought he might need later. By the time he’d left, Jeremy was positive that she hadn’t even known he was there in the first place.

The feeling of the packets and bottles of pills shifting around in Blaire’s pockets was oddly satisfying. He’d been out of control of his own life for too long now, just knowing he’d been able to pocket the dearly needed medical gear was enough to boost Jeremy’s mood.

Right, that’s one major item ticked off the list, time for the second most important – food. Jeremy would have killed just to get his hands on his usual well cooked food but he knew the best he was looking at would be some raw fruits and vegetables, maybe he could find himself some bread. God, what he really needed was a martini. 

He would have killed for a properly cooked meal, he would have done worse for a martini.

And if at all possible he would have done it all to Park.

But of course that was impossible now. Blaire considered this train of thought with a spiteful smile while judging the ripeness of an apple.

The market had a few people wandering around, last minute buys for a cheap price before the salesman packed up for the day. As such, the person who Jeremy assumed was the original owner of the apples he was currently pocketing, was distracted with another customer. Happily chatting away in that idly friendly way that small town folk did. It was a fascinating mix of kinship and polite, small talk – never quite friends but never truly strangers. It made for the most lengthy, pointless conversations, and for Blaire that meant more food.

The man who was speaking with the stand owner was obscured from Jeremy’s watchful gaze. Much like Jeremy the male was wearing a hood but unlike him, the hood was white and considerably more fashionable. Despite being unable to see the second male in the conversation, Jeremy swore he could see scars on the man’s hand. Not that it mattered at all, he was simply watching to make sure that he wasn’t seen himself. That left Jeremy to his thieving and thoughts.

Waylon Park was dead, and as much ad Blaire wished otherwise, he could not kill a dead man a second time. Some part of him was disheartened by this knowledge but the larger part of Jeremy was simply delighted with the sentence ‘ _Waylon park is dead_ ’. 

Damn near humming to himself, Jeremy decided he could maybe take one more orange before he had to sneak off. As he reached for the last brightly coloured fruit, Blaire caught sight of a familiar crest, and the food he’d gathered clumsily slipped through his fingers, left to fall against the ground with a soft series of thuds.

Standing by the stall that Blaire had been snatching his apples from was a small group of men. They appeared to be talking to the same man that had earlier been chatting to his neighbors and Jeremy didn’t have to hear their voices to know what they’d be saying.

They were asking questions. They were Murkoff.

All the colour drained from Blaire’s face. He wasn’t ready, he could be seen by them, he had to go. He had to be gone _now_. Abandoning the food he had unceremoniously dropped to the ground, Jeremy turned on the ball of his foot and hobbled as quickly and discretely as he could in the opposite direction. Even if his leg had been up for running he wouldn’t have tried it, too obvious, they’d catch him in an instant if he were to make it evident that he was fleeing.

Murkoff would of course have people in the town, asking questions and silencing others that dared to ask them. They weren’t looking for him, but they _were_ looking for loose ends and as of right now Jeremy fell into that category.

Without so much as a glance over his shoulder Jeremy left the town, not daring to look back for the slim chance he might see men in suits tailing behind him. Had he glanced back Jeremy would not have seen Murkoff personnel, he had not been seen by them at all but that wasn’t to say no one had taken notice of his shambling figure.

“Oh.” The elderly man who had finally finished talking to those strange men in suits noticed that some of the fruit appeared to have fallen from his stand into the mud.

Immediately he felt irritated, knowing that he could just clean them off and sell them if he wanted, but his conscience kept him from doing that to his customers. The fruit was now useless in his mind. With a sigh of frustration the man approached the fallen fruit, muttering about how sure he’d been that they were stacked properly.

It was only then he noticed that someone else was already gathering the food. “Ah, there’s no need for that my boy!” The old man spoke heartily, recognizing the familiar face that was helping him, they had just been talking about the local hospital after all. Although he’d become scarce when the suited men came around. “I’ll clean that up, don’t you worry.”

“Actually…” The male in the white hoodie glanced up at the shop owners face and smiled warmly. “I’d liked to buy these, if you don’t mind.”

“Those ones? Oh, heavens no. They’ve been on the ground, no, no. I’ll get you something fresh.” How could he sell dirty fruit to this man? Why he was barely more than a boy and he had such a hard life. He’d not even been with them for a week, spending all his time in that hospital, always wearing that hoodie because of his accident. No, he would give the boy the best he had and nothing less than that.

However when he noticed the forlorn look on his customer's face the old man then added hastily. “If you really want those, I’m happy to throw them in for free. No good now that they’ve been on the ground.” Once again a kind smile formed on his face and the elderly man was relieved. He could still smile so brightly despite his unfortunate life.

While packing a pair of small bags for the young man, keeping the good and fallen food separated, the stall owner glanced up to ask. “Why are you getting so much food my dear boy?” He did not mean to pry, it was simple curiosity. Barely even that, just small talk.

“They’re for a friend.” The other answered while tossing an apple in the air carelessly. His gaze fixed on the forest tree line for a moment longer before he looked at the shop owner with that familiar warm smile on his severely burned face. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate the gesture.”

It was only when Jeremy found himself back at the tree he’d tagged with his bandages that he felt secure enough to look over his shoulder. No one. Letting out a heavy sigh of relief Jeremy continued to drag himself back to the house, deciding that he was more than ready to fall unconscious on that vermin filled mattress again.

Seeing Murkoff had shaken him quite badly, he could just feel the slight trembling in his legs as he made his way back through the barely carved out path to the rotten house. As well as the distinct sense of danger there was also disgust, with himself for running. There was no other option but Jeremy still loathed the weakness that came with the simple act of fleeing.

For the first time since Rick had been taken away, Jeremy found himself wondering why he’d ever gotten involved with Murkoff. Of course he knew all the pros, the money, the power and abuse of both those things, but suddenly the cons were piling up too high and Jeremy struggled to justify his choice at that moment.

With fears and doubts plaguing him, Jeremy stumbled back into his little slice of hell. The door let out a shrill wail of complaint as it was pushed open, threatening to break off at the hinges and when Jeremy set foot on the old, decaying floorboards they to had something to say. The whole house let out whines and groans of displeasure, having been left to rot here by whoever had built it.

It had lost its purpose for existing and now the old house was abandoned.

“Oh shut _up_.” Jeremy snarled under his breath. “At least they didn’t tear you to the ground.”

The house should count its blessings that it was still standing, it did not need to worry about its old owners coming to demolish it. They didn’t have to be weary of that idea, not like Blaire had to be.

He made it upstairs, back to the little bathroom and bedroom, back to the place he’d eventually be able to rest again. It was only as Jeremy rest his walking stick against the wall that he finally realized…the food! A low growl of rage tore out of his aching throat, only serving to hurt him that little bit more. He’d dropped the food and the horrible hollowness in his stomach was no more bearable.

Only seconds away from ripping out his own hair, Jeremy had to calm himself with the knowledge that he’d at least acquired more painkillers and some sleeping pills. But even as he choked down one too many of each, Blaire knew that on an empty stomach it was probably going to end up doing more harm than good. But he needed this, god did he _need_ this.

His broken leg and ribs, his shattered arm and shredded flesh, all of it could be momentarily forgotten in sleep. Even his ordeal at the asylum, the threat of Murkoff and starvation, all could be put on hold while his eyes were shut. At least that was his theory, but if the nightmares resurfaced in place of the blissful darkness he’d find himself right back in the asylum, running for his life all over again.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, Jeremy made for the bed. This time he didn’t even bother checking his wrappings, he didn’t have the time or care. He just needed to stop existing for a little while longer.

As his back hit the lumpy, old mattress and Blaire shut his eyes the strangest thought occurred to him. He wondered what it would have been like in the Park household.

Well the bed would be soft and warm, with an ever-present body sleeping next to him. The house would probably be filled with the sounds of their little brats playing and the smell of home cooked meals. So unlike the musty, rotten smell that clung to the very walls of this run down little shit hole. Knowing Park it’d probably be a bit of a mess, kids toys and his own little gadgets left lying around, Blaire could only hope Park had trodden on his fair share of Lego pieces over the years.

The Park household would be full of light and open spaces. Pictures on the walls, no doubt full of happy smiling faces of Waylon’s pathetically normal family and past pets.

If Jeremy remembered correctly he’d had one or two pictures back at his own home. One of him and Rick out playing golf and another that was of a family cat. At least…he thought it was. Jeremy couldn’t remember and he knew it had nothing to do with his gradual slip into sleep, he hadn’t looked at those pictures in at least two years, he could barely remember if he even had a cat, or if he ever had, if he liked the thing. 

Why he was thinking of something so trivial while falling asleep from a mix of drugs and exhaustion, Jeremy couldn’t be sure. But as his sense of the world began to fade away in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder what Lisa Park would say to her husband had he still been alive. She’d probably tell him something sappy like ‘sweet dreams’ and kiss his cheek. Disgustingly sweet, enough to make Jeremy feel sick to his stomach. A simple ‘goodnight’ should have sufficed but he imagined the two would be more lovey than that.

The thoughts began to break apart and lose their coherent structure the longer Jeremy laid on the bed. So much so that he became numb to the rest of the world, a careless way to be. It left him vulnerable. It must have been at least half an hour before this mistake was paid for.

Beyond the haze in his mind Jeremy was just able to pick up the sound of something stirring downstairs.

The familiar wail of the door creeping open should have alarmed him but he was already too far-gone to even register the implications of the sound. Even as the floorboards creaked and the stairs groaned under another person’s weight, Jeremy did not fully register the sounds and only moved further into sleep.

Jeremy’s sleepy mind did, to its credit, try to get him to open his eyes but the best he could do was peer out past barely parted eyelids. In his blurred vision Jeremy was only able to make out a distant smile, a figure standing at the end of the bed, watching him.

The last thing his semi-conscious mind picked up before the world turned dark for a second time was a simply spoken phrase.

“ _Goodnight_.”


	4. Enemies Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn’t much of Waylon in this chapter, I apologise. But don’t worry about it, we’re just getting our primary obstacle's backstory out of the way. Waylon will be making a stronger appearance in later chapters.
> 
> Also, meet our boy Sebby.

“Good morning Mr. Blaire.”

His luck could _not_ be this bad! God could not loathe him _this_ much!

Jeremy had awoken that morning to the feeling of his wrists being rubbed raw and the unpleasant sensation of his joints groaning in discomfort after having been held in the same uncomfortable position for too many hours. When he first cracked his eyes open however, Jeremy was greeted with a somewhat puzzling realization.

His wounds had been treated.

Not well mind you, but the bandages he could see on his arm were fresh and visibly lacking the previously unsightly amounts of blood and puss stains. Not only had he been cleaned up, but also the pain had dulled considerably. He even _felt_ cleaner. 

Despite this good turn of events, Jeremy was alarmed rather than pleased. Who wouldn’t have been? He had no recollection of fixing himself up nor did he retain any memories of getting fixed by anyone else. When he tried to move so that he could check the bizarre patch job himself, Jeremy found himself unable to move more than a few centimetres.

Jerking his head upwards, Jeremy saw the cause of his immobile state.  
His hands were firmly anchored to the headboard of his ratty little bed. For a few seconds Jeremy could only stare at the rope that bound his arms to the bedposts, struggling to process the sight alone. When his mind finally did wrap around what had happened to him his first thought was quite simplistic.

‘ _Son of a bi--!_ ’

That was when _he_ stared to speak. Speaking that fucking friendly greeting in that honeyed voice of his. 

Jeremy was almost in denial, trying to justify the possibility that maybe he’d gone insane and was imagining the sickly sweet voice cooing to him from the other end of the bed. He didn’t think his imagination, even if insane, could be so perfect – he was getting phantom pains in his legs from the memory of running from this guy.

“I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

 Sitting with one leg neatly folded over the other, was the youngest Sinclair brother. His head angled back slightly so he could peer at Blaire with his one good eye, a smirk tugging at his lips as he regarded the bound executive.

In an instant Jeremy began to struggle again, frantically thrashing about in a mindless effort to get away before he saw the familiar shine of Sinclair’s scissors come out– he did not want to see that again. Desperately Jeremy began to pull at his arms, trying to jerk them free of their restraints. The only feat that Jeremy accomplished was causing himself ungodly amounts of pain. Still he feebly tried to escape because he was sure that he’d be facing a worse pain should he remain here much longer.

And to make the whole situation worse, Jeremy found himself looking at that familiar easy going smile the whole time. It seemed to shine in the dimly lit room, white teeth glinting maliciously out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually Jeremy pulled his injured arm too roughly and the accompanying surge of pain was enough to wrangle a guttural moan of agony from his throat. 

That watching smile twisted into a wide sneer. “It’s no use struggling. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jeremy roared the words before he even realised he was able to speak. He’d simply given a knee-jerk reaction, something that might get him and his foul mouth stabbed to death.

Thankfully Sinclair only chuckled in a good natured sort of way, that way of laughing grated on Jeremy’s nerves. “Now, now, Mr. Blaire, you’re being quite unreasonable.” As Sinclair spoke in that patronizing tone, Jeremy noticed something that caused his blood to run cold.

Sinclair was wearing a white hoodie, a _very_ familiar white hoodie. However if was different from when Blaire had seen it in town, now it had blood and dirt on it.

The realisation that Sinclair had actually spotted him in town and likely followed him back to this place brought about both frustration and fear in Blaire. He hadn’t been careful enough, he’d been so focused on the Murkoff personnel that he’d completely overlooked a greater threat standing no less than a meter away from him.

But he hadn’t expected to see Sinclair there, how could he have? Sinclair was supposed to be _dead_. He was meant to be nothing more than another charred body in the asylum, so why? Why was he here? How could he even be alive right now?

Oblivious to Jeremy’s frantic train of thought, Sinclair began to chat away in a casual tone. He acted nonchalant, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary. He acted as if he was not responsible for Blaire’s nightmares and that Blaire was not also the cause of his disfigurement. Jeremy feared that if Sinclair dropped this façade for even a second, he’d be killed right then and there. 

“You know I was getting a little worried in all honesty. You slept the whole night away, barely a twitch from you. Just how many pills did you take?”

Having calmed down a little bit from his initial panic, Jeremy remained silent. He wasn’t going to let Sinclair get under his skin; he would not squirm in front of the variant like some sort of trapped worm. His pride told him that even in this position he was superior to the former therapist. That sort of logic would get him killed if he was not more thoughtful.

However Sinclair was more than happy to continue on his merry little way, leaving Jeremy to his defiant silence without a care in the world. Liked the sound of his own damn voice too much.

“If you take that many next time I may need to have you vomit them back up. That was careless of you, Mr. Blaire. Very careless.” Sinclair looked at Jeremy like how an adult might regard a misbehaving child and with a faint sigh of amusement he shook his head in disappointment.

“More to the point, those pills should be taken with food. I’m sure you know this, Mr. Blaire. What possessed you to think it was okay to do otherwise?”

Jeremy’s own body betrayed him, his stomach lurching and releasing a feral growl at the mere mention of food. Sinclair heard the sound and laughed. Again the sound set Jeremy’s teeth on edge. 

Slowly Sinclair eased himself up off the end of the bed, the poor thing creaking and groaning in complaint at the shift of weight. Blaire tensed when Sinclair turned towards him, he looked about the same as he had in the asylum. The burns on his face looked no less inflamed and they seemed to have spread further along his neck and cheek, as if they intended to consume his entire face in due time. Despite himself Jeremy stared, and Sinclair noticed.

“Ah, this.” He mused, running burned fingers over his equally scarred face. His fingers gingerly touched the place around his eye before dropping to run over his jaw line where the scarred tissue was pulled tight in a grim smile. “Does it frighten you? No matter, I’m sure you’ll acclimatise.”

Cheerfully Sinclair shrugged off the thought and turned away from Jeremy, reaching around somewhere out of sight for something. At first Blaire panicked, thinking Sinclair was going to return with something sharp to start ripping bits of him off, but instead when the blonde variant returned he was holding a fairly innocent looking brown paper bag.

“What the fuck is that?” Jeremy snarled as Sinclair set the bag down on the end of the bed. The effort of speaking clearly was torn between sounding firm and fighting the dryness of his throat, ultimately his voice came out in a hoarse growl but that was still a far better outcome than a whimper.

With a sharp intake of breath Sinclair gave Blaire the most absurd look of disapproval. As though the language was the worst of Blaire's atrocities. “Manners, Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair chided him with a small upward twitch at the corners of his mouth; he was fighting back a grin, the smug bastard.

“After all, I’ve brought you a gift.” With that Sinclair knocked the paper bag over, spilling its contents out over the bed sheets. Apples, oranges, bread, hell he even had some chocolate in that bag, all of it lay splayed out in front of Jeremy.

Jeremy found himself flat-out staring at the food, his stomach furiously churning and snarling as if it could see the food itself. Without thinking Jeremy tried to reach for the closest item of food available, an apple that had come to a halt close by his thigh. However the sudden jerk only caused him more pain when the ropes reminded him he had a limited space to move in.

The resulting groan of pain only caused Sinclair’s smile to once again shift into a smirk.

“Careful now, wouldn’t want to undo all my good work now would you?” He mused, rounding the bed so that he was close by Jeremy’s side, close enough to run his fingers over the heavily bandaged limb that he’d attached to the bed.

Instinctively Jeremy whipped his head around towards Sinclair, releasing a feral snarl from low in his throat, he did not want Sinclair touching him at any point in time. He quite happily ignored Jeremy’s vocal complaints and continued on his merry way, gradually running his fingers down Jeremy’s already severely damaged arm and a spike of fear ran through his spine, fear that Sinclair would only inflict more suffering.

However the touch was fleeting and remained deceptively gentle, as though Jeremy was fragile and had to be treated with the upmost care – like he was delicate. Hardly a second later, Sinclair withdrew his hand to his chest and glanced down at Jeremy with that same sweet, fucking smile.

Now he had questions. “You…” Jeremy began to speak, each word rough and cracked due to his poor condition. “Why did you fix me?”

It was obviously Sinclair’s handiwork that had him patched up as well as bound to the bed. There was slight relief from the pain and a great deal of relief came with the reassurance that his body wouldn’t begin to rot after getting the proper treatment. But there was suspicion and anger. Jeremy felt violated knowing that Sinclair had been poking around his body, stitching him back together and seeing his insides. 

“I must apologize.” Sinclair began in a nonchalant tone. “My abilities with a needle and my knowledge of medical practices have always been…limited." He admitted grudgingly. "None the less, I think you’ll find my work to be quite satisfactory, considering your condition.” 

Sinclair baffled Blaire. Infuriated him actually.

He was not sure if the variant was taunting him with this act of civility or if he was really insane enough to believe the little charade. Still…this little friendly act was keeping Jeremy alive and had even got him some medical care – it might not be a bad idea to try and abuse it a bit. Unfortunately he didn't know how far he could twist until Sinclair snapped and returned to their former set up of trying to see who could murder who first.

“But you’ll be pleased to know I’ve improved significantly since last time.” Sinclair added cheerfully. “There is a lot more of you to work with as well this time around.”

Then it struck Blaire, clarity really hit him for the first time, and he felt like a first class moron for not making the connection earlier. That day, the day he’d woken up in the asylum with clumsy stitches barely holding him together – that had been Sinclair. 

“It was you…” Jeremy was understandably astonished. Both by the fact that Sinclair had been the one to patch him up and by the knowledge that Sinclair had been by his side while Jeremy was unconscious in the asylum and had _not_ killed him.

Abruptly the smile was gone, a deadpanned expression and lackluster gaze left in the place of Sinclair’s usual jovial expression.

“Yes, that was me.” Sinclair agreed in a flat echo.

He regarded Blaire coldly, guardedly. It occurred to Jeremy that in some small way Sinclair feared him. Even now he was nearer to death than life and immobile at the variant’s mercy – still Sinclair was weary of him.

After all Jeremy had ruined Sinclair first.

“It was cold down there.” Sinclair mused idly, reaching down to pick up the apple that Jeremy had originally tried to reach for. “Bitter, dark and cold – but never silent. There was constant sound down there, the buzz of monitors and television screens, and of course the screaming. So much _screaming_.”

Sinclair eyed the red fruit almost resentfully as he reminisced on his time in the lower levels of the asylum. Jeremy knew this little spiel; he’d heard it before. Not just from Sinclair but from various other former patients in their mad ramblings. They blamed him for their suffering – they weren’t wrong to do so, but Blaire was without remorse or pity. 

“I often wondered, ‘how could anyone do this to another human being’? I thought about that a lot, whenever I was strapped into that god-forsaken chair and forced to look at that filthy screen. I couldn’t help but think it was still impossible for anyone to subject another to this kind of hell.”

Jeremy felt his blood run cold as Sinclair turned his gaze on him again. He could feel the icy stare as though it had become a physical force that pushed it was way through the places on Jeremy’s body that Sinclair looked. Boring a hole through his chest, seeping past eye sockets and through his brain – Jeremy was left bare and exposed just by that look. 

But he felt no guilt. Jeremy did not regret his actions; he felt no compassion for Sinclair or any of the other degenerates he’d sent to the lower levels of the asylum. Business was business and Blaire knew how to play it best.

As far as regrets went he only had one. One that spread into a single great mistake and many more minor regrets – not killing Waylon Park faster, losing control of the asylum.

“But you did, now didn’t you Mr. Blaire? You did subject me to that. Oh, but not just me, isn’t that right? How many ‘loose ends’ did you tie up by throwing people into that torturous chamber? I’m sure it must be well past the double digits by now.”

Leaning in close Sinclair stared at Blaire with sharp, unforgiving eyes. Only one was still able to see, the other had been permanently narrowed by the burns and was now a white milky color, Blaire couldn’t even see a pupil anymore. 

Faintly he remembered Sinclair had pretty eyes, Blaire remembered having hated those eyes. They were so bright, those far away and gentle blue orbs had always made it seem like Sinclair was never truly there. But _every_ smile had reached his eyes – they had been kind eyes. Blaire loathed those naïve eyes.

“Why would you do that to me, Jeremy?” Sinclair murmured, sounding more crestfallen than angry. “I would not do that to you.”

“Bullshit!” The word ripped free of Jeremy before he could contain it and with it, everything else came tumbling out. “You crazy fucking piece of shit! ‘You wouldn’t do that to me’? _Seriously?_ Everything that happened to me in that shithole was your damn fault. You stabbed me, tied me down, hunted me, held your stupid bloody ‘therapy’ sessions – it’s your fault Walrider ripped into me! Everything would have been just fine if you and the rest of your bloody kind had just done as you were told!”

Perhaps it was the memories that did it. Each accusation dragging out another memory he'd rather not have. The asylum walls, the blood that he'd lost to Sinclair's scissors, the fear.

“My life is fucked and it’s _your_ fault!” As the final shout tore through Jeremy’s sore throat, an eerie silence settled between them. Sinclair had not backed away during Blaire’s outburst; instead he continued to observe Blaire with the dead stare of his one seeing eye.

“Then we are even.” 

The words were delivered so coldly that Blaire almost completely forgot who he was talking to. Sinclair no longer resembled the therapist that Jeremy had first met as a new employee. His kind smile and distant eyes were artificial, reproduced for the sake of acting out a character that had died after being strapped into the testing chair for the first time.

Jeremy Blaire had killed Sebastian Sinclair – and now it seemed he had intentions of returning the favor. 

Somehow this didn’t surprise Jeremy, from the first day he’d laid eyes on Sinclair – he’d known that he’d loathe him till the day they both lay cold and rotting in the ground.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

 

…  
…

 

It seemed absurd to hire therapists for Mount Massive Asylum. Even more so to feed them crap about ‘helping’ the patients. 

Blaire had always thought it was a practice best cut off. After all, the last thing they needed was some sort of misplaced empathy coming from these people – thankfully it seemed that therapists were more detached from their patients than Blaire had first anticipated.

“You can’t let yourself get caught up in the crazy’s feelings.” Rick had explained to him carelessly one afternoon. “Think about it. It’s just not practical is it? How is anyone meant to work, to make any money, if they’re too busy worry about their object of works _feelings_?”

“Objects?” Jeremy echoed, speaking more in approval than question.

“Being invested in your work is all well and good.” Rick continued, taking a practice swing with one of Jeremy’s clubs. Something that was strictly forbidden for anyone not named Trager. “But if you get too buried in it then you lose sight of the end goal.” 

“Profit.” Jeremy supplied the answer while idly looking over some new employee forms. Nothing stuck out in particular. Everyone they’d hired was either in their back pocket or too beaten down and afraid to act out. The key was absolute control, and to obtain that power those under their jurisdiction must be suffering. That was the only way to ensure full control.

“Hit the nail on the head, buddy.” Rick praised Jeremy with that irritating smirk of his. “But you know how it is, people get all…attached.” Rick made a baffled hand gesture, as though he couldn’t completely comprehend the thought.  “All these sentimental attachments, have people making the stupidest blunders. Pointless if you ask me.”

“You’re breaking my heart here, Rick.” Jeremy drawled lethargically, tossing aside another paper, only to drag up a second. 

Rick’s grin retuned as he carelessly tossed his arm around Jeremy’s shoulders. “Oh, but you’re my buddy, ain’tcha Jer?” The affectionate gesture irritated Jeremy almost as much as the nickname had int he early days. Now he only gave a disgruntle grumble and tried to try and shake Rick’s arm off him, he didn’t put much effort into his halfhearted complaints.

Trager's acts of fondness were no more than a game. They were friends with the knowledge that they’d have to eventually turn around and stab one another in the back. It was simply good business.

Jeremy would not fault Richard Trager on the day that he finally betrayed him. He would do the same in a heartbeat. Jeremy wondered briefly why the thought unsettled him.

“What’s this then?” Rick asked, lazily plucking the employee profile from Jeremy’s fingers. “New kiddies?”

“Nothing interesting.” Jeremy replied wearily. He had to know every face and name so there was no way around the tiring job, but it was beginning to wear on his nerves.

“Pretty young this one don’t ya think?” Rick mused with a faint smirk, no doubt thinking he could in some way play with the new employees. He could be unprofessional in that sense. Good thing he always completed his work to perfection, or Murkoff might be a little less inclined to indulge him.

Uninterestedly Jeremy’s gaze slipped up to the file Rick was inspecting. Naturally he knew the new worker. A therapist that had started Jeremy’s contemplation and judgment of the employment of their types in the asylum.

“Sebastian Sinclair.” Rick read aloud, perhaps thinking he could irritate Jeremy further like this – he was correct. “Only twenty-seven years old, oh but he’ll be twenty-eight this year. Murkoff doesn’t normally hire this young, unpredictable and usually dissatisfied with work. Aw, but look at that face – looks like a puppy in need of a good kicking.”

“Is there a point to this, Rick?” Jeremy demanded, not appreciating Rick’s commentary on a file he’d already read.

Wordlessly Rick dropped the file back in front of Jeremy and gestured to the second that Jeremy had been about to go over. Following his direction, Jeremy found himself reading the same last name and looking at a similar picture.

“Sentimental attachments.” Rick murmured, still smirking coolly.

Curious, Jeremy picked up both files, looking at them side by side. The two employees had a similar face and the same eyes but at a glance it could have been hard to notice. Their age difference and varied body structure made the two look unrelated on the surface.

Sebastian Sinclair, the younger of the two, the therapist – and his older brother Riley Sinclair, was hired as a guard. Somehow that amused Jeremy on some small level, Sebastian was written up to be quite the clever young lad and his brother was put down as a simple-minded muscle head.

“Brothers.” Rick continued cheerily. “A choiceless connection, something that people have no say in. But it makes for the best attachments, the biggest blunders.”

“Murkoff usually wouldn’t hire in pairs.” Jeremy muttered, partially ignoring Rick’s happy monologing. “Having two people that could potentially talk to one another could create a delicate situation. One I don’t want to clean up”

“People are always going to talk, Jer.”

“People can be made to remain silent.” Jeremy disputed bluntly. 

“Your faith in fear as a control method is outstanding.” Jeremy got the distinct impression that Rick was taunting him.

That got under his skin, but he knew that if Rick got a rise out of him, he’d already lost. So instead of snapping back, Jeremy simply gathered up the two brother’s papers and calmly straightened them before standing from his chair.

Rick’s eyes followed his movements, perhaps still looking for some indication he’d caused Jeremy to snap. “And just where are you off to, buddy?” 

“To interview our new employees of course.”

Behind him, Rick laughed. It took a great deal of effort and self control to stop himself from turning around and giving Rick a good throttling, again reminding himself that he had to remain composed in order to win against his friend.

“Ah, Jer, your dedication to the art of control is truly applause worthy.” Rick smirked as he eyed Jeremy smugly. “But a lost cause.”

“Oh? And just what are you basing that on?” Jeremy turned to glance back at Rick.

While his friend would often throw him bait, Jeremy knew the difference between a pointless question and one that may lead to genuine use. Rick had the strangest way of looking at the world, but Jeremy trusted Rick’s judgment on most things. Perhaps Rick was the _only_ person he trusted in that way.

A dangerous faith to place in someone, in _anyone_.

“You could threaten, intimidate and bully them and it would change nothing. Their attachment is one of blood, not affection. Not so easily severed.” Rick drawled, taking his time to speak the simply philosophy he held.  “Pushing family apart is not as effective as you might hope.”

“In that case it’s easier to do the opposite.” There was confidence in his words at that time. After all what cause did Jeremy Blaire have to imagine these two would be any different to the others they had hired? None. None at all and imagination never exactly ranked high on his list anyway.

“If tarnishing their relationship is out of the question, I’ll find the weak link, and exploit it.”

Rick leant back against the bookshelf he’d earlier been rifling through and smiled wearily. “The weak link you say? The one easiest to manipulate out of the two?”

“To scare.” Jeremy corrected simply. “If these ‘sentimental attachments’ are as prominent as you claim, then one of them will be gullible enough to be twisted by a small threat to the other.”

“Ah, so emotional blackmail then?”

“You make it sound so despicable. Its just good business.”

Rick hadn’t said anything in response to that.

It hadn’t struck Jeremy as odd at the time as he pulled on his jacket and head out into the asylum to make good on his word. But looking back on that conversation now, Jeremy noticed that Rick had not been quite right.

His talk of sentimental attachments had seemed fairly standard to Jeremy at the time. He hadn’t noticed the slight hesitation and weariness in Rick’s behavior. In fact when remembering the expression Rick had made as he left – Jeremy could have sworn it was one of quiet acceptance.

Rick was sent to the lower levels only little over a month after that conversation. 

Jeremy guessed he’d known where he was heading long before that. Rick…the stupidest, smart person he’d ever met.

The asylum was the same as always. People shied away from Jeremy as he strut down the halls, on top of the world and consequently on top of them as well. Eye contact was never made by anyone who had heard Blaire’s name and those that had interactions with him would often find the quickest way to make themselves invisible to him.

None of this bothered Blaire, quite the opposite in fact. There was a core purpose to this set up, fear was the key to absolute control and so Blaire never made an attempt to smooth over any rumors about him, provided they suited his needs.

And, if he were to be honest, it was gratifying to be feared.

Taking a careless glance down at the files, Jeremy located the small time table on the underside of their papers. It seemed Murkoff wasn’t completely incompetent – not that Jeremy would dare say as such when he may be over heard. The two brothers were placed on separate ends of the asylum.

The eldest was mostly on patrol in the prison block, occasionally moving to different areas like the courtyard or the recreational area. His brother on the other hand was primarily based in the male ward, the closest the two got seemed to be the vocational block and on one occasion the drying ground. So at the very least they would not be spending much time together, certainly not enough time to chat on the job. Even their sleeping quarters were fairly far apart, creating just the right sized void to keep the two separated but just able to see one another enough not to get agitated.

However that was their timetable for when they got fully settled in, not that Murkoff would give them much time to adjust. For the next two days they’d be shown the ropes and thoroughly beaten down by their superior’s scrutiny no doubt.

Usually Blaire wouldn’t bother having a look in, but Rick’s words had unsettled him somewhat. Everything was going so smoothly; Jeremy didn’t want any cock-ups now.

So he made his way towards the administration block, it was the place where most of the debriefing and paper work was done. Once Murkoff was sure that they had their employee’s properly under control they’d open the doors to the less savory parts of the job, for now the two wouldn’t get anywhere near the engine room or the hospital wing.

As Blaire entered the administration block, he was immediately made aware of a small problem. 

“What the bloody hell are they doing here?” Jeremy cursed under his breath in frustration when he caught sight of the Warden’s form. The Warden had their back to Jeremy as they inspected some papers of their own, so he didn’t have to see their eyes glowering at him, but there was no relief. Blaire hadn’t expected to see the Warden anywhere near this place today.

Admittedly the Warden seemed happy to do as they pleased without the need to be restricted by a timetable, much like Blaire in that respect. But usually they were with the patients and on the opposite side of the asylum. So seeing them here was unusual, and for Blaire it was an inconvenience. 

Put simply they did not see eye to eye on most things – on anything actually.

Deciding it would be better not to make his presence known, Blaire kept silent and observed what was going on rather than walking in and demanding an explanation. Such actions would probably lead to a physical consequence, and Blaire would not risk his image. 

The buzz of conversation drowned out the hope of focusing on any one voice for a while, but as Jeremy’s eyes swept over each employee’s face, he finally spotted the two he’d been seeking out.

And immediately his nerves were being trodden on.

The two men he’d seen on the papers that were currently tucked under his arm, stood shoulder to shoulder, speaking with some of the senior workers. That was not what got under Jeremy’s skin obviously, what immediately caused the executive to start grinding his teeth was the presence on a gleeful smile on one of their faces.

The youngest, blonde brother, whose name momentarily escaped Blaire, was wearing a pleasant, friendly smile while chatting to his new colleagues. His brother, the larger more grizzled of the two, was blissfully silent while the younger made what Jeremy guessed was polite conversation.

Now that he could see their faces, Jeremy was gradually able to locate their conversation in the dull roar of voices around him.

“Listen kid.” A guard was speaking to the blonde. “You can’t go getting close to the patients.” There was a note of urgency to those words, a genuine warning and one that Jeremy full heartedly agreed with. Feral animals were not supposed to be pitied or petted after all.

The male’s response was lost in the murmur of voices, but Jeremy caught sight of that smile brighten as he replied with a shrug. He even had the audacity to give a good-natured laugh.

This was exactly the type of person Jeremy did not want hanging around. Some idiot with a soft heart to match his soft head, and prior to meeting Park, Blaire had never so quickly taken a dislike to an employee.

Momentarily Jeremy’s gaze flicked over to the guard that still seemed to be trying to convince the two of the dangers of being too friendly with the patients. Of course they couldn’t understand that half of the danger came from Murkoff rather than the raving lunatics they had locked up. It was a lost cause apparently, no matter what he was told the younger only smiled and would politely disagree by the look of it, however the older only looked like he was growing increasingly uneasy with every passing moment. Jeremy could practically see the blood draining from his face with every new horror the senior guards mentioned.

“No, you don’t get it kid--” Abruptly the cautionary conversation was brought to a grinding halt. It seemed as though the Warden had overheard the group.

Now it was in no way the Warden’s job to intervene in small discussions. If Blaire didn't run it, then the Warden did. Between them they ran most of the show in the asylum, so breaking up things like this seemed a little too far below them. It almost seemed like charity to lend their time to anyone below their status actually, something that Blaire did not particularly appreciate.

If he were to take some small sliver of enjoyment from this however, he would have to admit that the look on the guard’s face was priceless. Besides himself, it seemed that the Warden was the most feared _sane_ individual around.

“S-Sir. Erm, Ma’am…I mean…” The guard struggled to be respectful and ended up putting his foot in his mouth while trying to address the Warden. Not that anyone could really blame the poor bastard, the Warden’s gender did tend to confuse most of the other workers. Better not to call them by pronouns if it could be helped.

“Warden.” A colleague, a scientist going by the uniform, cut in with a simpler greeting and saved the guard more embarrassment.

The stoic Warden was sparing with their words and rather than speaking they only gave a simple, acknowledging nod. Without being asked the scientist who’d managed to keep his cool, continued to explain the situation.

“These two are scheduled to start their work tomorrow.” He spoke, blatantly avoiding the topic they’d been discussing only moments before. No one would dare to talk about patients poorly in the Warden’s direct line of sight. “Thought we’d try to give them the run down and some friendly tips before they get started.”

From where Blaire stood he could not make out the Warden’s expression, not that it really ever changed. He could imagine the Warden’s stare burrowing into the two new employees, sizing them up in their usual hardened sort of way. 

Momentarily the smile ran away from the youngest Sinclair man’s face. He resembled a child looking upon a monstrous beast for the first time. A healthy mix of caution and respect.

Had Jeremy not been watching the two with a hawk like gaze, he would have completely missed the small protective gesture of the older Sinclair boy. The dark haired man slowly reached out with one hand, subtly so as not to be obvious in his suspicion. Silently he placed his hand just above his brother’s waist, inching the smaller blonde back a step so he could partially shield his brother with his own sturdier body. The look in his eyes was undoubtedly weary but there was a fierce defensive edge to the stare – he was protecting his brother.

 _Got you._ That was exactly what Jeremy had been looking for.

A vicious smile crawled onto his face; he was unable to suppress the expression for a brief moment. He’d been watching the two, looking for the one that would respond most strongly to any sort of threat to the other. He’d assumed it would be the elder, it seemed natural that the older, larger of the two would be more liable to be protective.

That slightly aggressive behaviour was the weak link that Blair had been searching for. A trait so disgustingly noble, that it made Blaire sick to his stomach, would be their undoing. Making a mental note of which brother his focus would be on; Jeremy stole a fleeting glance back down at their files.

Riley Sinclair – he would be the one most easily twisted.

Just as Jeremy was ready to leave, having chosen the one he’d use without even needing to speak with them, the blonde therapist snatched his attention.He was wearing that fucking smile again.

Now Blaire prided himself on being able to read humans without even needing to try but in that instant he was stumped. The expression that Sebastian Sinclair, Jeremy recalled after checking his file for the name, was making seemed genuine as it was naïve.

But in his file it said he was quite clever, that he was good enough to warrant a position in that asylum – so the idea he could look so blissfully ignorant struck Jeremy as questionable. What was especially concerning was that only moments ago he’d looked rightfully anxious under the Warden’s heavy stare. Jeremy hadn’t heard any words that could have prompted the switch in mood, so why?

Why the hell did the little shit look like he was having the time of his life meeting new people?

What Sinclair was saying to the Warden was too distant for Blaire to make out; he seemed to be talking animatedly, looking overjoyed when speaking with his intimidating superior. Riley looked no more comfortable than he had when the Warden first showed up but he didn’t restrain his brother’s enthusiasm either.

Watching the bizarre interaction, Blaire found himself at a loss.

There was a distinct feeling of distaste growing in the back of his mind. Not just for the Warden who had always been a thorn in his side, a thorn that from time to time could make him bleed, but also for the two brothers.

One struck him as painfully gallant. Playing some sort of knight in shinning armor crap for his baby brother. Someone stuck firmly to a moral mindset, the sort of person that was weak at their core because they lacked the ability to act beyond one single objective.

And the other, the moron who smiled pleasantly at everyone he met…well something just got under Blaire’s skin. Empathy, it had to be that wasted emotion. Sinclair looked like someone who would give himself to other's emotions, because he was a nice guy. The mere concept made Blaire’s skin crawl.

Mount Massive Asylum had no place for weakness or compassion. One way or another they’d have to beat that out of their new employees.

Blaire was confident he could do just that. After all they were both under contract for at least a year – he had time to waste on them. Perhaps it could even prove to be fun, a small stress relief from all the other irritations in the asylum. He’d just make the Sinclair boy’s his own little stress ball.

With that thought putting a faint smile on his face, Blaire decided to take his leave. He only got four steps back down the hall he’d come before he was stopped a second time, in this instance he was stopped by someone calling after him. 

“Mr. Blaire?”

Jeremy damn near jumped. He had an image to uphold however, and so he kept himself firmly anchored in place. A few seconds passed before he slowly inclined his head back to look at the person speaking to him. It was all about presentation, he moved slowly, at his own pace and everyone else had to wait anxiously for him to give him or her the time of day.

All in the presentation.

Standing behind him, with that infuriating smile slapped on his face, was Sebastian Sinclair. Jeremy damn near scowled but caught himself at the last moment.

“I’m sorry.” Sinclair apologized upfront for stopping Blaire when he appeared to be leaving. “I should have introduced myself sooner, when you were waiting.”

Jeremy was taken aback by that innocent comment. He’d been noticed? At what point had Sinclair been made aware of his presence? Blaire had his eyes on the boys essentially from the moment he’d entered the administration block, at no point had he seen Sinclair’s eyes on him, the blonde made no indication that he’d seen Blaire. 

After the initial surprise, there was anger. Not only had he been seen by the lower employee, he’d been ignored. To add insult to injury, he had _not_ been waiting for Sinclair, the thought was ludicrous. Understandably Blaire’s anger flared, but being the calm professional he was, Jeremy controlled himself and did not strike Sinclair. No matter how badly he might have wanted to.

“That’s quite alright Mr. Sinclair. I was not held up at all.” Jeremy replied coolly, eyes narrowing a fraction as he looked at the male. He was surprisingly thin, almost looked like a girl with his sweet face and blonde locks – in short he looked like a liability.

“Ah, is that so? I’m relieved. I see you already know who I am, saves some time on introductions.” Sinclair’s smile only warmed when Blaire spoke, a contrast to most employee’s fearful expressions.  “I was told that you are the supervisor for most things in the asylum.”

 _Your supervisor’s, supervisor._ Jeremy’s mind echoed distantly, recalling the commonly spoken joke of sorts. It was also said with disdain but it was a fairly accurate expression.

“You were speaking with the Warden earlier.” Blaire’s tone came out a bit too short; he disliked the Warden on the best of days and today was shaping up to be a pretty poor one. “They would be the one you’d want to be in good with.”

Perhaps that was it. Maybe that innocent smile was a ploy? Brown nosing the higher-ups wherever he could to get his way. That was a tactic that Blaire knew well and while he wasn’t about to partake in it himself, he could admire those lowly enough to pull it off.

“Oh?” The blonde looked surprised by Blaire’s comment and very quickly he laughed in a good natured way. “I wouldn’t want to bother them.”

Blaire’s eye twitched at the use of the word ‘ _them’_ , rather than he or she for the Warden. So he had already picked up on the correct way to refer to the Warden? Well wasn’t he just a quick little fucker.

“So you thought you’d bother me instead?” Blaire spoke with a chuckle, acting as though he was only teasing. Jeremy expected some sort of excuse or apologies; instead he got silence and a slight widening of the male’s smile.

_This little shit…_

The expression confused Blaire and even to this day he never fully understood why Sinclair responded in some of the ways he did. When Sinclair should have bit back in retaliation he usually laughed. When he was threatened or berated he only smiled, in fact there only ever seemed to be one thing on Sinclair’s mind, the only thing that could pick apart his sunny disposition.

“I would only bother you for one thing Mr. Blaire. The patients, I’m afraid I don’t know their locations yet.”

The bloody patients.

When Blaire realised that Sinclair was just bleeding his heart out for the crazies, he began to understand how the therapist had been able to smile so earnestly when speaking with the Warden.

“You want _me_ to show you?” Jeremy was unable to keep the insult from his bitter laugh and for a moment Sinclair’s expression fell. That small downward tug at the edges of his mouth was like a sudden explosion of gratification for Blaire, a delight he didn’t realize he’d needed till it hit him.

Running off that satisfying feeling, Jeremy continued with an air of renewed gusto. “I have much more important things on my plate Mr. Sinclair, I’m afraid I simply can’t spare the time to show you such menial things.”

“Is that right…?” Sinclair still looked mildly disappointed but eventually a kind smile formed on his face and he shrugged. “You must be very tired, having such a heavy work load. I hope you’re not under too much stress. It’s bad for your health.”

Did Sinclair… _pity_ him?

Blaire was once again infuriated by a simple idea that the therapist put down. Before Blaire could run the risk of exploding and strangling the therapist right then and there, the less agitating of the two brothers appeared around the corner.

“Sebastian.” He hissed his brother’s name with a hurried, ‘come here’ motion. “They’re waiting for us.” It seemed that Sebastian would get his wish of being showed around after all, just not by Blaire. Which was probably for the best, because Jeremy was positive he’d kill Sebastian before they reached the male ward.

Ignorant to Blaire’s rage, Sinclair glanced back at him with a fleeting smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Blaire. I’ll do my best to work for you and Murkoff from now on. Please excuse me.”

 _Oh well aren’t you just the perfect little fucking boy scout,_ Blaire thought bitterly, barely able to keep his tongue from misbehaving and speaking the venomous thoughts aloud.

As Sinclair turned to return to his brother’s side and finish his ‘Welcome to Murkoff’ package, Blaire could only watch the two go.  

After that short exchange Blaire was only left more irritated and baffled than before. He’d tried placing Sinclair’s type of person as a suck up or maybe an idiot – but that wasn't the vibe he was getting form the blonde therapist. His file said he was clever, his behavior said he was genuine – so why was he working at Murkoff?

Did he really exist purely to dance on Blaire’s nerves?

Jeremy was confident he’d never meet anyone he came to despise more quickly or strongly than Sebastian Sinclair.

….And then he met Waylon Park only five months later – and for the first time Jeremy Blaire was not ashamed to admit he'd been wrong.

 

…  
…

 

“So that’s it then?” Blaire spat. “You’re going to kill me, to get even?”

“Kill you?” Sinclair had the indecency to look innocently surprised by Blaire’s obvious conclusion. After that he laughed, an amused little chuckle that grated on Blaire’s nerves further. Sinclair was mocking him.

“On the contrary Mr. Blaire, I’m saving you.” As if to give evidence to the absurd claim, Sinclair sat himself down on the bedside next to Blaire and began to unwind one of the dirtier bandages from his arm. “After all this hard work of stitching you back into something vaguely human shaped – what good would killing you do me?”

“You’re crazy…” Blaire muttered, unable to see the logic behind this man’s actions. “You chased me all over that damn asylum, now you want to play house?”

“That I did, and I am _terribly_ sorry.” That was one of the few times that Jeremy had heard Sinclair flat out lie, he didn't even bother to try and hide it in the snarky way he spoke. “I was not in my right mind…not that anyone could blame us, being in that dreadful place was enough to drive anyone a little batty.” 

Jeremy watched as Sinclair’s hands, one burnt and the other delicate, unwound the bandage from his arm. Blair couldn’t feel much of anything in that dead arm anymore, he was sure that it would drop off eventually, and he be left with nothing but an unsightly stump. Well between the stump and sorry excuse he had for an arm now, perhaps the loss of the limb was preferable.

The chunks that were taken from his arm were still spilling puss and what skin was left was a horribly inflamed, some patches around the gashes looked like large boils ready to explode. As Sinclair observed the state of his more damaged arm, he let out a sigh and chided Blaire.

“So careless. Just how did you attract the Walrider’s attention?”

Blaire didn’t bother answering Sinclair, not about to tell the crazy bastard he’d tried gutting Waylon.  Sinclair wasn’t likely to take that news well; he seemed to be fond of the little techie.

Of course the two people he hated most in the asylum would decide to be friends. Fucking fantastic.

“Well, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.” Sinclair decided, setting aside the dirty bandages. “We’ll have to make-do with what we have now. Not that there’s much left, I may have to cut it off.”

“No, don't!” Blaire shouted the words on reflex.

Memories of Sinclair holding up various sharp weapons flooding his mind. He was bound to the bed, unable to run away if Sinclair did decide to make a living dissection out of him.

“Not you! I’ll do it, I…I can break it off right now. Just…Just you watch and see, I can do it! So don’t you dare touch me you…yo--!”

“Hush, hush now.” Sinclair spoke in a deceptively soothing tone. “You’re delirious, it's the infection talking.”

Delirious?

Well…maybe.

The whole world did strike Jeremy as more of a dream than reality. Everything was either muted or in painful clarity. Did he have a fever? Was he gradually dying from his injuries? Fear began to crawl up Blaire’s spine and the thought of crying occurred to him, but he couldn’t – not while his pride endured. Especially not when Sinclair could see him. 

“You’re very sick Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair continued in that gentle tone, treating him with false tenderness. “But don’t you worry, we’ll have you back to your old self in no time.” There was a pause and Sinclair’s smile twisted into something sinister. “And then you can repay me for everything you’ve done.”

“For revenge…?” Blaire asked tiredly, feeling incredibly heavy under the weight of his increasingly unbearable fever.

“Maybe.” Sinclair admitted dully. “But I’m not doing this for myself, or you…I need you alive Blaire. If I didn’t, I think I’d kill you right now.”

It was as if he was unable to restrain himself and Sinclair’s fingers slowly wrapped around Blaire’s throat. He had no where to go, if Sinclair decided killing him was more important than whatever reason he was currently keeping him alive – Blaire was as good as road kill.

“I thought nothing would make me happier than seeing you die. I thought that once I killed you everything would be better; maybe I’d even be able to die myself after I’d done it. But…” After a few more agonizing seconds of struggling to breathe passed, Sinclair finally released him. “…there's things more important than you or I. So for now you live.”

“As of right now the safest place in the world for you, is with me.” Sinclair’s tone returned to normal and Blaire watched idly as the blonde picked up a small box of wet-wipes to begin cleaning Blaire’s arm. He ignored the small hisses and whines of agony that left Blaire’s mouth as he wiped away dried blood and yellow globs of puss. It wasn’t out of cruelty that he ignored Blaire’s complaints; it was simply a matter of necessity. He had to fix Blaire’s arm and it was going to hurt so he couldn’t stop every time Jeremy seemed to be in pain.

“Until Murkoff feels safe, you won’t be safe. In this state you can’t hope to feed yourself or get the proper medical attention – I am the salvation you need right now. I will feed you, clothe you and mend you until you’re competent to do as such yourself.”

“I have nothing to give.” Blaire croaked, biting back another groan of pain as Sinclair dealt with a particularly nasty section of his shredded arm. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“Oh, I think you can be made to see things my way.” Sinclair chuckled, knowing he had full control over Blaire for the time being. “Murkoff might be drowning and flailing, but you still have connections and money in your name – I need that.”

“What?” Blaire scoffed, still able to find the comedy in the bleakest of situations. “Trying to plan a get away to Hawaii or something? Maybe some plastic surgery for your face?”

“Hmpf, cute.” Sinclair smirked, pinching Blaire’s arm in retaliation. A small action that was far more painful than Blaire could have imagined a simple pinch to be. “But no, I need your money and connections for something more important than my own vanity. Once you’re a little healthier we’ll discuss the best way of getting those funds to me.”

“If I refuse?”

“That’s a stupid question Mr. Blaire. Obviously you’ll die.” Sinclair looked at him with an unimpressed expression. “Either Murkoff will catch wind of you and try to erase you like all the other loose ends or I’ll butcher you in a rage. It wouldn’t be my first choice…but then again, _you_ were not my first choice either.” How flattering.

“Murkoff has been busily destroying evidence, I saw the asylum burn to the ground only three nights ago. The last thing you need is having them try to silence you as well.”

Three nights? Somehow that time frame seemed both too long and too short. If that was true then it meant that he’d slept straight through two nights the first time he collapsed in this bloody house and that he’d probably gone without food for four days.

His stomach growled furiously as his mind made that connection, he was sure that it had started to eat itself in desperation.

Sinclair’s mending hands paused in their activities when he heard Jeremy’s stomach rumble. Amused by the sound Sinclair chuckled and put down the wet-wipe he’d been using.

“Perhaps food would not be a bad idea.” As Sinclair stood from the bed and head for the bathroom, Blaire was suddenly struck with a bizarre sense of dread. When he lost sight of Sinclair he was filled with anxiety. What if he never came back? What if the nutter just decided not to feed Jeremy and instead simply leave him bound on the bed to rot away?

Just as those outlandish fears began to become unbearable, Sinclair reappeared in the doorway to the bathroom, wiping his hands dry with a cloth. Oh…he’d only gone to wash his hands? Realizing this, Jeremy let out a breath of relief he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Think you can handle solids without vomiting it all back up?” Sinclair asked curiously as he once again neared Blaire.

“Just give me the fucking food.” Blaire snarled in response and Sinclair’s mouth twitched up into a small spiteful smile.

“Very well.” The items that had previously been spilled out over the bed were collected by Sinclair and Jeremy was forced to watch as he picked up each item, just wishing he could use his own hands to grab the food and devour it.

After what seemed like an eternity had passed, Sinclair once again seated himself next to Jeremy and held up a banana. It wouldn’t have been Blaire’s first choice but hell if he could eat it he was down for just about anything that Sinclair had brought. As Sinclair peeled the fruit, it occurred to Jeremy that his captor had picked it because it was soft and easier on the stomach than something acidic like an orange or hard like an apple.

Well wasn’t he just the sweetest fucking thing.

“Go on then.” Blaire snapped back to attention when Sinclair spoke, realizing the man was holding the tip of the banana out to him. “Eat.”

Ah…they’d hit another snag.

Sinclair held the food out expectantly but Jeremy did not try to eat it. Was the therapist really daft enough to think that he could get Blaire to eat out his hand like an animal?

“Untie me.” Blaire demanded and only then did Sinclair seem to realize the problem, only to laugh in Jeremy’s face.

“There’s no way I’m fully uniting you. You’ll hurt yourself.” Not, you’ll escape or you’ll attack me. No, _you’ll hurt yourself._ Is what the bastard said? He wasn’t threatened by Blaire in the slightest, and rightfully so. Blaire could barely lift his fist let alone throw it; he could hardly walk let alone run. Sinclair had him so perfectly captured that he need not fear his former employer.

And of course Blaire resented him for that.

“Don’t make me force feed you Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair added after Blaire remained stubbornly silent. “You know I can do it, you’ve been in that asylum long enough to see how it’s done right? I bet that Mr. Trager would have told you how to do it as well. A pipe down your throat into your stomach is all I’d need.”

With every word Sinclair’s voice dropped lower and lower, becoming increasingly more threatening. “You’d kick and scream probably, I might end up choking you or even breaking something inside of your body…but if you won’t eat then what choice do I have?”

“Just untie me!” Blaire spoke a little too quickly, his feverish tone bordering on a plea. “I won’t bloody run, I just want to eat like a normal fucking person. You have my word, I--”

“Your word?” Blaire realized immediately he’d stepped on a landmine. “Your _word_? I’ll tell you what good your word is Blaire. Your word had me thrown into a cell, my patients killed and my brother--! My brother…” 

For a moment Sinclair seemed distracted, staring into space as he fought to regain control so as not to throttle the life out of Blaire in a moment of fury. When he finally showed signs of calming down, Sinclair took a deep breath and fixed Blaire with an icy glare.

“Your word means nothing.” His words dripped with venom and spite “You will eat while restrained until I think you have earned the right to do so otherwise.”

Blaire knew he was running the risk of setting off his captor again but he remained silent. He did not want to lower himself anymore than this ordeal already had. His pride kept him from rolling over and showing his belly at the threat of Sinclair’s rage, but it also demanded that he stay alive.  
He couldn’t give up…and in order not to quit his only option was to stay alive.

And to stay alive he had to debase himself.

“Your options are bleak.” Sinclair’s voice was smooth again, dropping back into a more passive tone. “Everyone in the world wants you, Mr. Blaire. Your friends Murkoff want you dead, the police want you locked up and I want you right here, _safe_ – pick which one you’d rather be with.” 

Put simply his choices were, death, life in prison, or tolerate Sinclair. He was dearly tempted to choose life in prison.

What was that old term? With friends like these, who needs enemies? Somehow that expression did not quite do this situation justice. Reverse the wording and it’d be more accurate.

With enemies like Sinclair, who needs friends like Murkoff?

Sinclair raised the fruit again, and waited for his choice.

Blaire stared at Sinclair for a few seconds longer, looking at the man he’d become. Jeremy was both proud and regretful. He’d destroyed the pleasant, kindhearted boy who’d stepped into the asylum over half a year ago and created a monster. If he’d never had to be on the receiving end of this particular monster’s fury – if that’d been the case Blaire would have been incredibly pleased with himself.

The corruption of something pure was truly marvelous; the fall out was less enjoyable. But that was the aftermath he now had to live with.

And so, with his pride practically draining out of his body, Jeremy leant forward and opened his mouth.

Sinclair looked pleased by his choice and Blaire found himself imagining what it’d be like to stab Sinclair as he had Waylon.  
One day, he swore to himself, he’d try it out.


	5. Regret Is Blinding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry but there’s a bit more backstory, so I got this chapter out quickly and such but the next chapter should be much more fun.  
> Also I know, I know – gotta cram Waylon in soon. I plan to…very soon.

The days that followed Sinclair’s appearance were torturous.

The hours spent cleaning, disinfecting, bandaging and in a few severe cases, sewing and resetting parts of Blaire’s body, were now burned into his mind.

His ‘caregiver’ ignored every scream and growl of discomfort that his patient gave. Jeremy was certain that he could have begged the man to be more gentle with his practices and he’d be just as stoic as ever. However, while Sinclair was in no way soft with his procedures, he never seemed to take a great deal of joy in them either.

Never did Blaire see the manic smile he’d come to know from his time in the asylum, and not once did Sinclair laugh at him when bitter tears pricked his eyes as parts of his flesh too rotten to save, were removed. In fact Sinclair almost lacked emotion entirely when he worked on Blaire’s heavily scarred tissue.

The expression he wore was usually a toss up between silent concentration and detached calculation. Jeremy had once asked about this, spitting out accusing swears and demands to know why Sinclair was so bloody heartless about the whole ordeal.

“It must be done!” Sinclair’s patience seemed to have come to an end with Jeremy on that occasion as he snapped back a reply bitterly.

His hands came to rest on Blaire’s knee, just above the place where he’d only moments ago been testing Jeremy’s broken ankle for further weaknesses. Apparently the bone was setting together nicely in Sinclair’s opinion but he was still weary of the swelling and Jeremy guessed that he was afraid it’d never properly heal. If that was the case he might really make good on his promise of cutting parts of him off.

Sinclair looked at Jeremy, an exasperated expression on his face as he spoke impatiently, he sounded wearier than Blaire and that just seemed unfair.

“Because it must be done I cannot avoid it, and because I cannot avoid it, I _must_ endure it. And if I am to do as such I need to stay focused and treat it only as work – or I will be unable to do anything for you! Do you understand Mr. Blaire?”

He didn’t.

Jeremy vaguely knew the concept behind becoming disconnected from emotions when working, it was something Rick had highly valued in employees, but Jeremy himself had never needed to worry about such things. He had never cared if what he did hurt others so what need was there for endurance?

As the mornings turned into night and the sun escaped behind the trees with each passing day, Jeremy found himself increasingly less afraid of Sinclair and more baffled. Of course things never reached the stage in which Blaire was able to stop walking on eggshells. The smallest things set Sinclair off, sometimes the male would return to the house in a bad mood and Blaire would be left wondering if today would be the day the male finally chocked the life out of him.

He almost longed for it. The rage in Sinclair’s eyes in the moments he’d snap and lay hands on Blaire again was real and Jeremy could all but feel the hatred radiating off of his caregiver’s flesh as his fingers closed around his throat for another time. But no matter how much he shouted at Jeremy, or squeezed his captive’s throat shut, Sinclair was never rough when it came to mending Jeremy’s wounds.

This in turn infuriated Blaire. Perhaps he shouldn’t have looked a gift horse in the mouth and simply accepted the tender care, but it was too bizarre for him to simply accept. The man was clearly in a better mindset than he had been in the asylum, if still just a little unhinged, but Blaire wasn’t ready to swallow this kind treatment nonsense.

However a result of all this was Jeremy’s health, and it was improving. Sinclair only ever let him get up for the bathroom and even that right had been a fight to obtain. Jeremy drew the line at soiling himself, he drew a lot of lines actually but Sinclair stepped over most of them – thankfully a bathroom break was apparently acceptable in his captor’s mind.

Thus twice or so a day Jeremy’s restraints would be removed and Sinclair would help him hobble to the bathroom. These small exercises were also a way for his nurse to assess how well his legs were healing, and judging by how little Jeremy stumbled now and the approving smile on Sinclair’s face – he was doing well.

Sinclair had once remarked that Jeremy may be able to walk on his own soon, to that Jeremy had made a particularly poor choice in comment and given Sinclair a snide remark about his imprisonment.

When he saw that single blue eye turn cold and Sinclair’s jaw clench, Jeremy instinctively tensed, expecting Sinclair’s hands to wrap around his throat for the traditional throttling. However that punishment never came, instead Sinclair had hissed some furious words at him and left early that day.

Somehow that punishment was a little more difficult to bear.

When Sinclair left, it was just Jeremy again alone in this big empty shithole. It was silent when Sinclair left, only the occasional shuffling of rats behind the walls or crickets deciding now was a good time to try crying was left behind to keep him company. Jeremy became painfully aware of time passing in those moments, knowing he’d have to wait hours for more food or a toilet break, knowing it’d probably be a whole day before his imprisoner returned. 

At first there was relief, always crushing relief knowing that he was safe from the threat of Sinclair’s sudden outbursts. But that feeling never lasted long enough to sate Blaire. The feelings of loneliness struck Jeremy as weak, an emotion that should not be applied to him of all people, and so he wrote it off as simple boredom. 

If Sinclair didn’t kill him, then the boredom would.

It was when the sun finally vanished and Sinclair left for the day that Jeremy’s mind worked at its best. He began to question things he wouldn’t usually bother wasting time on, he had nothing if not time to spare now.

Blaire’s mind of course went to the obvious thoughts, farfetched schemes of escape and fantasies of somehow being able to take Sinclair off guard and repay him for all his ‘kind’ treatment. While those thoughts did occupy his mind frequently, nearly becoming a form of entertainment, Blaire never fully bought into them.

Even if he was to escape from Sinclair he wasn’t sure where to go from there. He still had to worry about his condition that, while improving, wouldn’t get him far away enough to feel safe. Not to mention that here he at least had constant access to a willing nurse, medical supplies and food.

There was also the threat of Murkoff and the police, a threat that Sinclair constantly reminded him of. Blaire didn’t have any friends either.

Well wasn’t that a depressing thought.

In all fairness Jeremy never had ‘friends’ he had colleague and contacts. No one that would so much as toss change at him on the sidewalk if it didn’t in some way benefit them. Jeremy might have thrown the change – if only to see it hit them.

The only friend he ever remembered having was Trager, and hadn’t that relationship just turned out _wonderfully_?

Jeremy had never been keen on making friends before that and after the experience he had sworn off the practice entirely.

Sentimental connections would bring people to their knees, he’d abused that knowledge when it came to the Sinclair brothers and Park with his pathetic little family – but he’d never expected to be on the receiving end of that experience. He didn’t dare let his mind wander too much further down that road, too many painful memories.

As he lay on the musty old mattress, wasting the hours away staring at a slowly corroding ceiling, Jeremy made a shopping list of things he wanted from Sinclair. He imagined demanding new sheets and alcohol from his captor, once again assuming the role of a boss demanding their assistant for more coffee – actually add coffee to that list, he could use the kick. In every scenario he imagined the outcome was the same. He’d made his demands and Sinclair would laugh in his face, maybe hit him once for good measure. So of course he never bothered telling Sinclair about his fantasy-shopping list.

Not that it mattered. In fact Blaire rarely ever needed to ask for anything like that.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Jeremy didn’t dignify that greeting with an answer. He was always awake when Sinclair showed up, the sound of the rustic house creaking as Sinclair arrived had become his new alarm clock.

Knowing his prisoner wasn’t going to respond, Sinclair stepped inside of the dim, disgusting little room and gently closed the door behind him. It was only once Sinclair was safely inside Jeremy’s new prison that the smell hit him. The sickly sweet sent of coffee hit Jeremy more strongly than if Sinclair had physically thrown it at him.

Impulsively Jeremy jerked upright, still unable to move his arms far from the headboard of his bed, but mobile enough to look at Sinclair. He was sure that he looked like a rabid dog in that moment, a disgustingly weak image to take, but one that was unavoidable when he could smell the first hot food he’d had in what he guessed was at least a week and a half.

Sinclair clocked Jeremy’s expression with a satisfied smirk. Among the plastic bags he usually carried in with fresh medical supplies and fruit, Sebastian held a cardboard container with two cups of steaming hot coffee in it.

“Well that certainly got you to perk up Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair mused as he took up his usual spot on the side of Jeremy’s bed. Ignoring the eagerness in his prisoner’s eyes, Sinclair calmly unloaded the goods he’d brought and took the two cups out of their container. One he placed on a decrepit bedside table, and the other he held out towards Jeremy.

“Now if you burn yourself or spill it, I’ll take it away.” Sinclair warned seriously, but he was sporting a warm smile, as if this act of charity made him happy in some way. Jeremy couldn’t accept that so he instead decided that Sinclair was enjoying the possibility of taking away the treat.

“My hands.” This was the usual fight. No matter how many meals passed Sinclair never let Blaire free of his restraints. But every time, without fail, Jeremy put forward the same argument.

“Do you want the coffee or not?” Sinclair asked, his smile dropping into a familiar impatient scowl. “I will take it away if your behavior turns sour.”

Leave it to fucking Sinclair to treat him like a dog. 

Blaire fixed Sinclair with the best scowl he could muster, still holding onto his pride stubbornly. The two of them stayed like that for a while, his captor watching him with frustration as the seconds trickled on by. Slowly that angry expression faded into one that almost looked sad, and finally Sinclair sighed heavily, shoulders slumping forward in defeat.

Jeremy actually made the mistake of feeling hopeful, at least until he saw Sinclair beginning to take the drink away. At first Jeremy felt anger but that feeling bleed away into blind panic when he noticed Sinclair wasn't just removing the cup of coffee, he was tipping it up to pour on the ground.

“Don’t you bloody--!” The words had barely had the chance to leave Blaire’s mouth before the first drop of rich coffee hit the ground, being wasted on the dusty old floorboards. Immediately Jeremy’s mouth felt dry and there was a great sense of loss as he watched the once steaming hot drink turn to a miserable cold puddle on the ground. Soon it would be nothing but another stain and patch of sticky ‘something’ to add to the house’s ever-growing list of disgusting substances.

Sinclair kept his eyes on Jeremy the whole time, watching his former employer’s face drop with every splash of coffee that he let slip out of the cup. He kept a keen eye on the expressions Blaire made, recognizing the face of loss that he’d once seen on Blaire’s face while working for him. It was a pitiful face, especially when seen on a man known to be so strong. 

It was only coffee some might have said, but to a man who had survived on nothing but fruit and the occasional vegetable for at least two weeks while recovering from horrendous injuries at the hands of a man he loathed – that coffee might as well have been liquid gold.

When the last drop lazily hit the ground, giving a small splash before it joined the rest of the drink on the ground, Sinclair finally lowered the cup. Putting it calmly down on the bedside table, and let the silence stretch on for a few seconds longer. If he had heard Jeremy start to cry, he would not have been surprised.

But Blaire did not cry. He barely made a sound and as Sinclair waited for…anything, he realized this silence was all Jeremy could manage. He could wait for the screaming, the swearing or the crying for hours and get nothing from Blaire.

“You’ve become a jaded adult.” Sinclair sighed quietly, folding one leg over his thigh idly. If he was actually speaking to his prisoner or referring to himself – Sebastian was not one hundred percent certain.

“I haven’t seen you make that face for a while though.” Sebastian added, gradually rolling his one good eye over to study the hopeless look on Blaire’s face. “The last time I saw you looking so distraught you were--”

“Tied to your god damn therapy chair?” Jeremy hissed the suggestion venomously. He expected to be struck for speaking out of turn but Sinclair didn’t seem particularly phased by it. They both harbored regrets from the asylum.

“No.” He answered, staring off into space. “I was going to say that you made that face, the last time I saw Mr. Trage--”

“Don't you fucking dare!” Blaire shouted, not caring that his throat was raw and dry.  Sinclair did not react to his screaming, and instead continued to stare straight ahead. “You have no right to speak about that, don’t you dare say his name. You piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you when I get out!”

“You couldn’t kill me when I was still alive.”

Sinclair’s emotionless reply momentarily caused Blaire to pause. When he looked up at Sinclair’s face, from what little he could see of the heavily burnt man, he appeared to be smiling. A small, sad sort of smile. From where Blaire was sitting Sinclair seemed very much alive. Maybe a little worse for wear but still in better condition than his sorry self.

But from Sebastian’s perspective he died in that asylum.

He’d been rotten from the inside from the first time he was strapped into the morphogenic engine, or maybe it was the first time he picked up a knife and drew blood? Sebastian could have picked any of these instances to be the defining moment that he official ‘died’, but Sinclair knew without a doubt he’d been dead from the moment Jeremy Blaire decided he was a nuisance alive.

Trust had been something Sinclair freely gave in the past, and even though he’d always known Jeremy Blaire to be irritable and perhaps immoral, Sebastian had the fundamental trust in others that they would be humane. So even though Blaire had never truly been a good person, Sebastian had still felt betrayed when his boss turned him into another patient for Mount Massive Asylum. 

It was foolish the he – a trained therapist who worked day in and out with the criminally insane – had been so naïve when it came to his own employer.

 _I was too generous_. Sinclair acknowledged tiredly. Images of his patients flashing through his mind, those that had maimed and mutilated others, people he’d still been willing to treat kindly. He assumed all those people that he had held such high hopes for, were now dead, burned and buried with the rest of Murkoff’s unwanted property.

If Sebastian had it his way he would have burned along with the rest of the asylum, the world was no place for something like him to live. But he still had one last thing he needed to do before he could let himself die – and for that he needed Blaire.

“I would know better than most what that man went through, better than you ever could. I believe I have every right to speak about it.” Sinclair muttered dryly.

He had never been particularly fond of Trager, how could he be expected to? The man had made his opinion of Sinclair abundantly clear and admittedly Trager had frightened him from the moment they met, his one relief was that they met very little. Besides…the man had given his brother a headache when they still worked there, Riley's often extremely vicious rants about Trager had set a precedent.

However he did pity Trager, or rather he understood the man better than most. There had always been a sense of mutual empathy between the patients that were subjected to the morphonogenic engine. After all when you went through hell you tended to feel linked to those that had gone there with you.

“Looks like I’ll have to leave you here for today.” Sinclair said quietly, knowing he should have stayed to check Blaire’s condition like usual. But he didn’t think today would be one of their good days, besides he hadn’t checked in on his other patient in a while. If he waited any longer to see him, Sebastian was sure he’d lose his mind.

Well lose his mind _again_ anyway. 

And with Blaire in the room there was every possibility he’d turn that anger on the bound man and actually crush his windpipe. Sinclair had not accidentally killed Jeremy all the other times he lost his composure but… who knows, could be tenth time lucky.

 _But you only just got here for fuck's sake!_ Jeremy thought in alarm when Sinclair announced his intentions to leave, but he did not speak those words aloud, and instead said.

“My leg is hurting like hell.” It was not technically a lie. His legs were hurting but not enough to make Jeremy feel the need to complain. So he was a little bit surprised by the fact he’d spoken at all, but it worked for what it was worth.

Sinclair paused, glancing between Jeremy and the door. Eventually whatever noble train of thought the moron had going through his head made the blonde turn back to Jeremy, giving a small sigh as he did.

“I didn’t give you enough painkillers?” He mumbled more to himself than to Jeremy as he peeled back the sheets from his patient’s legs to inspect any damage he may have missed earlier.

As Sinclair ran his fingers over Jeremy’s patched up legs, the older man couldn’t help but marvel at Sinclair’s incredible stupidity. Had he not only moments ago poured coffee onto the floor just to see Jeremy squirm? Now he looked concerned about a small amount of discomfort – that didn’t actually exist –his prisoner might be in? What world did this man live in? 

Jeremy let out a hiss of complaint when Sinclair brushed a particularly tender part of his leg, close to where he’d broken it. Immediately the man’s hands recoiled before proceeding more delicately. Silence stretched between them as Sebastian made sure to thoroughly check Jeremy’s legs, occasionally stopping to apply more of the cream he thought was so damn magical and fresh coverings.

As Blaire watched Sinclair work he wondered if this was the way he treated all his patients when he was still a respectable therapist. Sinclair had been notorious in saying sappy things like ‘they’re just people, there’s no need to abuse them’ when he was questioned about the asylum residents. Those words still irritated Blaire but now he realized there was actually a benefit to them, it meant that no matter how much Sinclair loathed him – he would try to handle him with care while treating him.

What an idiotic notion.

When it was finally over, Jeremy was sure a solid twenty minutes had passed. Sinclair never rushed anything nor did he half ass his work – traits that in the past had actually looked pretty appealing on his application form to Murkoff. Those good work ethics had kept Sinclair out of Blaire’s line of fire for months, despite his supervisor growing to dislike him almost instantly.

“Right.” Sinclair spoke, announcing a close to his work. “I’ll give you two more painkillers, to last you till this afternoon.”

“You’re coming back?” That was unusual, normally when Sinclair left he wouldn’t return until the next day had started.

“Just to give you some more pills and food.” Sinclair confirmed while he popped two small white tablets out of their packaging. Just the sight of them calmed Blaire, knowing they meant relief to the aching in his entire body. “I have to do something today.”

“What could someone like you possible have to do during the day?” Blaire scoffed. “Don’t children start crying when they see you in the street?” 

“They do, they sometimes even run away.” Buzz kill. “Now take your pills and be quiet.” Sinclair held the tablets out to Blaire, who reluctantly took them without the usual argument. He’d already lost coffee to his stubbornness that day; he didn’t want to add pain relief to that list.

Swallowing the pills dry was hardly a problem, Blaire knew his way around self-medication better than most. But he still found himself longing for a martini to help the dry tablets down.

Sinclair packed himself up in silence and Blaire didn’t bother trying to speak to his imprisoner at first. He would have let Sinclair leave without another word but he noticed something odd. The second cup of coffee that Sinclair brought with him had been untouched. He could just faintly see some sort of heat radiating off of it, meaning it was still warm and full at the very least.

“You forgot your coffee, bastard.” Jeremy spat, intending to make Sinclair feel like shit. For not giving him coffee or for wasting his own – either would suffice.

Sebastian took one look at the cup and snorted, not exactly the reaction Blaire had been aiming for. “I figured you would burn yourself even if I told you not to.” 

At first Jeremy was confused, even more so when he felt Sinclair’s slender fingers begin to loosen his restraints.

For a moment his mind was filled with nothing but white noise. Confusion and disbelief ran together to create a buzz of chaos behind his eyes. While Blaire understood his arms were being freed, his brain refused to process that simple information or what it meant was coming next.

It was only when Sebastian leant back away from him that Jeremy realized what he’d done. His lesser arm had been given some movement area. When this had all first started Jeremy had feared his arm would forever be dead weight but Sinclair had reassured him that in time he’d be able to move it again, at least enough that it wasn’t completely useless. He doubted his arm would ever return to full function or that he’d ever be able to use his fingers properly again – what with parts of his hand missing and all that – but it could at least move enough to do small tasks. 

Task like…oh holding a cup of coffee for example.

“Go on then.” Sinclair mused, holding the cup out to Blaire, who continued to stare in utter disbelief. It was only when Sebastian added one last after thought, that Jeremy finally grasped that the coffee was never meant for the other man. “I’m more of a tea person myself.”

Jeremy didn't have the time to be angry about the fact Sinclair had probably planned this from the start as his hand closed around the coffee cup, just able to hold it up to his mouth. The sudden explosion of strong flavor in his mouth coupled with the warmth of the smooth liquid was so gratifying that Blaire could have moaned in delight. He restrained himself from doing as such with Sinclair’s ever-vigilant gaze on him.

As Jeremy indulged in the much-needed drink, Sinclair held onto a private smile. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to fully move past his hatred for Jeremy Blaire, but in the same way he could not bring himself to be heartless towards those weaker than himself. His tormentor was now undoubtedly weaker than he once was, so seeing him happily gulp down the drink put his mind at ease. Like watching a child finally enjoy hot chocolate after months of summer had passed.

“I knew you would have burnt yourself.” Sinclair mused, watching as he greedily finished off the previously scalding beverage. “Wouldn’t have even stopped to think about it.”

“You’re…” Jeremy began breathlessly, having finished the drink almost in one go. “…a fucking bastard.”

“So you keep reminding me.” Sinclair chuckled, in too good a mood to be bothered by Blaire’s potty mouth. If Sebastian were to call his past superior’s language as such, Blaire would most certainly spit out more profanities. Somehow even that thought was able to bring a smile onto Sebastian’s face, Jeremy reminded him of a spoiled child more and more with every passing day. Did that make him a bully…?

When Blaire finished with the cup, Sebastian wordlessly removed it from the man’s feeble grasp. As he did, Sebastian took notice of the horribly inflamed skin around Jeremy’s palm. It didn’t look infected but it did look painful. It truly was a miracle that Jeremy retained any function in that hand at all. 

Sebastian again reminded himself not to pity Blaire too much; there were some out there who did not even have both their arms anymore.

That thought reminded Sebastian of the limited window he had to finish his business in town and so with some reluctance he rebound Jeremy’s arm to the bed. Of course the dark haired male squirmed and made wordless snarls of protest when he was once again restrained, but he was still too weak to really give Sinclair any trouble. At least for now. 

With his prisoner correctly secured, Sinclair left abruptly. If he was caught up in conversation or overthought Blaire’s condition he’d waste more time and lose his short window of opportunity for the day. But even as he descended the stairs and began to leave the little shack in the woods behind, his mind remained full of Blaire. None of those thoughts were complimentary.

He knew there would come a day where Jeremy might be able to cause a bit more of a fuss when he struggled, when that day came Sinclair guessed he’d need to be more guarded with the way he kept Jeremy contained. In other words he may need to revoke the bathroom privileges and there’d be no more coffee. Sebastian did not look forward to that day, but hopefully by then Blaire would have fulfilled his role and they could part ways.

Part ways…?

The thought seemed so alien to Sebastian after it crossed his mind. That had always been the plan hadn’t it? Take what he needed from Blaire and then…what? His plan had never actually gone that far. He couldn’t very well keep the man in the shabby old house forever, but he didn’t see a day coming where he could wave Blaire off with a smile.

Actually, if he was being honest with himself, Sinclair had always imagined he’d kill Jeremy.

Old thoughts resurfaced, ideas and things he’d believed in during his time in the asylum. There had been no doubt in his mind as he stalked Blaire through the bloody splattered hallways that he would kill the man once he caught him. Maybe not immediately, but it was always the end goal. To see Jeremy Blaire strapped down, cut open and forced to bleed out all of his sins – that had been nirvana in his mind back then. Even now the thought wasn’t entirely unappealing…

 _No_. Sinclair chided himself with a small shake of his head. _I’m better than that now. I’m better now._

His thoughts tried to be reassuring but Sebastian knew that there would always be that small part of him that longed to pull out a pair of scissors and see just what made Jeremy Blaire’s insides so fucking unsightly. As if he could dissect the man and see physically what it was that made him so despicable.

He knew that Jeremy had nightmares about him; sometimes it felt like they shared the same nighttime horrors. Sinclair was no stranger to dreaming of a heavily burnt man, holding a pair of scissors and laughing as he cut someone’s throat. The person that died could change from time to time. Most often the man that resembled Sebastian’s fractured self in his nightmares would lash out at Blaire, his original target, but in rare instances that person changed. In the worst nightmares, Sebastian saw Blaire being swapped out with his own brother and occasionally the Sebastian from the asylum would even slice his own throat.

Those dreams had the grown man waking up with a scream, and covered in sweat every other night. He felt like a child again and every time Sebastian woke from those dreams and shouted out in the dead of night, he half expected Riley to appear by his side and tell him everything was okay. That it was only a dream. Sometimes for the first fraction of a second that Sebastian was awake, he maintained the illusion of being a little boy again, crying for his big brother to come and save him like he always did.

But he always remembered seconds later that such a thing was now impossible.

Trying his best to forget about that house in the woods and the asylum that was now nothing but rubble and ashes, Sinclair carried himself into town. The walk was tedious and he did find himself pondering how Blaire had managed it a week earlier when he was so thoroughly damaged. Sebastian thought about investing in a bike or even a motorcycle but he knew damn well he didn’t have the money for it. All of his money was being split between hospital bills and Blaire’s requirements. Who would have guessed Jeremy would be such high maintenance? 

Oh, but the people around here were kind. Sebastian smiled when he thought back to the elderly man who so often gave him food at a lowered price, or completely for free. The people in town who knew his face and story might have been pitying him but they still tried to smile and act normally around him, though he knew they stared when they thought he wasn’t watching.

Sebastian didn’t mind, he knew his gradually deteriorating skin was a sight to behold, he wouldn’t fault them for being interested or unnerved by his disfigurement. They still tried to smile and make his life a bit easier where they could, lavishing him with offers of charity and support. Most of which he politely declined, knowing everyone had it rough in some way or another and he did not want to exploit his physical ailments. 

However when they offered to help him with hospital bills or said they’d make get-well cards, Sinclair did not have the heart to refuse them. So in the end he’d return to the hospital, holding a new gift almost every day. Every time this sort of gift was offered, Sinclair felt his heart warm again. He felt like there was some hope, even for someone like him if he could see that people were still good and could be kind. People like Waylon Park still existed in the world, and that was enough to keep Sinclair smiling.

With those thoughts filling his mind Sinclair found himself nearing his destination, a fairly sizable white building on the boarder of the town. To Sinclair it looked large but he knew that for a hospital it was considerably small. Holding onto the warmth that other’s comfort gave him, Sinclair stepped inside of the sterile halls once more.

The unsettling beeping of the hospitals machines gradually worked their way under Sebastian’s skin. He’d barely stepped foot in the hospital before the sounds and smells assaulted him once again. They were sensations he’d come to know well in his life, but even now they made his stomach churn and twist in distress. Especially for the reason he was here now.

“Oh! Sebastian you’re here again.” Sinclair jumped, surprised by the sweet voice that called him. He sometimes forgot how lovely someone could sound when they spoke his name, particularly after having spent some time with Blaire again.

Turning towards the voice Sinclair was greeted by a warm smile. He recognized the kind-hearted girl’s face immediately and scolded himself for not having known her voice instantly. The young blonde had a stunning smile and sparkling blue eyes, but what always struck Sinclair most strongly about the girl was the heavy flora scent that hung of her clothes. Her name was Mary, and she owned a small flower shop in town and they’d actually met here in this hospital as she was brining flowers to the patients. Sebastian had of course loved her easygoing smile and kind nature from the first time she laid a bundle of yellow flowers on his bedside table. When he was still bedridden and recovering from the injuries he’d sustained during his escape from the asylum.

At the time he’d snapped at her, still not quite in his right mind, but she’d brought him fresh flowers the next day without fail. Since that day they’d become considerably familiar with one another, having one normal friend in all this madness was a relief Sinclair hadn’t dreamed of having.

Sebastian was glad to have met Mary, in a way she was the therapist he’d always wanted to be. But instead of diagnosis and questions she brought comfort in the form of flowers and an understanding smile. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” Mary asked as she approached Sebastian, holding in her arm a bundle of familiar yellow flowers. “I was hoping I might run into you, so I saved these for last.”

 _Sweet girl_. Sebastian managed a smile that he remembered having once been well acquainted with.

“I think having some company would do us both good.” Sinclair agreed, making a small gesture for Mary to join him. The hospital was informal, which suited Sebastian’s needs currently but he did often worry about the security in the place. If Murkoff poked their noses around here there was the risk they might find them.

As they walked down the sterile, white bleached halls Sebastian felt his heart pick up anxiously. Thinking that maybe today would be the day he finally got his wish. Stopping outside of an opening sliding door, Sebastian and Mary cautiously peeked into a small hospital room. The room had become decorated in flowers and cards, full of colour so that when its occupant finally woke up again, they’d be greeted with something worth looking at.

“Riley, we’re here to visit.” Sebastian spoke out loud, holding onto the faint hope that his big brother would respond today. But as always he was greeted only by the beeping of hospital machines. His brother was still asleep. His heart dropped.

Mary must have noticed the crushed expression on Sebastian’s face and decided to try and help him along. “Look Riley, we brought you more flowers. Yellow is your favorite right? Well hopefully you’ll like these.” Mary stepped into the hospital room, leaving Sebastian in the door way as she set down the flowers on the windowsill.

Finally Sebastian’s legs seemed to unlock and he was able to step into the small room and see his older brother’s face properly. His beard was starting to resurface after only two weeks of going unshaven, and Sebastian chuckled at the sight, knowing that when Riley woke up he’d be mortified.

But that smile didn’t last, as gradually Sebastian’s eyes dropped to his brother’s torso. To the place where his brother’s arm _should_ have been, it was nothing but a stump covered in bandages.

Briefly Sebastian thought of Jeremy’s arm and the poor state it was in. When he’d considered cutting it off in the past, he’d almost thrown up. Just thinking that he could actually remove Jeremy’s arm like what had been done to his brother made him physically ill. So despite common sense saying it was better to remove the limb rather than risk infection and more pain, Sinclair had tried to save Jeremy’s arm rather than remove it.

He noticed that Mary had started to speak with the sleeping Riley. As Mary chatted away casually, Sebastian felt his nervous heart waver, one day he was going to have to leave this place, and these two behind. He could also abandon Blaire and the horrors Murkoff left with him, but somehow when he looked at the beautiful flowers in Mary’s hands and the careless smile on her face as she spoke to Riley like he might respond, Sinclair didn’t feel much like leaving anymore. Instead he decided to join them. Gradually Sebastian eased himself into the chair by his brother’s bed and managed a small smile for the sleeping man.

“Hey Riley…I got a lot to tell you.”

His sins were piling up again, and all of them had Jeremy Blaire’s name on them.

 

…  
…

 

Jeremy was positive that if he didn’t get out of this place he really was going to go insane. The scent of coffee lingered in the room long after the taste began to fade, leaving a dull ache of longing in Jeremy’s stomach as he continued to stare at the ceiling, once again counting the cracks he could see. 

Today had been a surprisingly good day. He’d gotten coffee, his wounds weren’t aching too bad and Sinclair only showed his stupid fucking face for a few minutes at best. Well there was an up and a down to that, as always. Without Sinclair around and having already caught up on all the sleep in the world, Jeremy was left with nothing to do but sit and wait for the miserable hours to tick on by.

Sinclair must have only been gone for half an hour when Jeremy’s patience reached breaking point. In an attempt to give his body _anything_ to do, Jeremy began to test out his legs. Twitching and flexing them to see just how good they were coming along. The gashes he’d suffered had scabbed over and thanks to Sinclair’s diligence there was no infections worth worrying about. Really his greatest source of discomfort came from his ankle. He knew it was swollen and tender but Sinclair reassured him that it was not a nasty break; he had even been optimistic enough at one point to say it might not be broken at all. Told Blaire it could just be the sprain from hell, it would explain why he managed to hobble on it so well. Somehow that didn’t boost his confidence all that much.

As Blaire tested his body with small muscle tenses and twisting what joints he could move around, his mind wandered. After having calmed down enough to think straight after the whole coffee ordeal, Jeremy was struck by how incredibly careless it was to just drink whatever Sebastian gave him. Granted he didn’t have much of a choice when the man was literally his only source of food, but there was always a chance of Sebastian poisoning him with something mild. Not enough to kill but enough to get Blaire squirming for Sebastian’s entertainment.

“As if that spineless sap would ever.” Jeremy growled under his breath and found he was surprised by his own words. He had feared Sinclair in the asylum, who wouldn’t? The man was a raving lunatic, but now…now he wasn’t so worried. It seemed like Sebastian really did want to see him improve, to be comfortable.

Jeremy still couldn’t wrap his brain around this idea, or rather he refused to believe it.

Idiots like Sinclair and Park got under his skin for reasons that Blaire could never fully pinpoint. Park with his goddamn puppy dog eyes and clumsy smile managed to infuriate Jeremy every time they met, and Sinclair was no bloody better.

“Stupid Park!” Blaire hissed furiously, jerking his healthy hand violently against his restraints as he spoke. Needing to release a small bit of his pent up aggravation. What he would have given to have Park’s face within punching distance again was criminal.

_Creak._

Jeremy froze.

The sound of wood straining and splintering sent an electric jolt down his spine. For a few seconds Jeremy remained deathly still, not daring to believe he’d actually heard the sound at all. Then slowly, hesitantly he pulled against the rope that bound his arm a second time.

 _Crea--snap!_

Something in the headboard broke with a sharp snap, sending a small piece of wood flying past Blaire’s face. It was giving away under the pressure of his tugging!

Suddenly Blaire was frantic, pulling again and again at the heavily eroded wood. With every fresh tug a bit more off the wood seemed to crumble and fall away. It was no easy task and it took all of Blaire’s energy to begin making a considerable difference, but eventually his restraints began to loosen as the wood that held their prisoner in place began to splinter apart. 

Finally this old house was good for _something_. In a feverish flurry of excitement, Jeremy was able to tear his arm away from the headboard. The rope fell uselessly into his lap, looking dejected as it now lay in failure on the bed sheets. He’d escaped it.

Without pausing to consider the repercussions of this course of action, Blaire began to try and undo the knots that tied his less functional arm to the bed. He found his fingers to be clumsy as he rushed but the rope wasn’t tied as securely as the other had been and after a few minutes of focusing he was able to pull the second item of bondage away from him.

It was only as the second rope landed with a soft thud on the ground that the severity of the situation truly hit Blaire. He was free, he could escape and thanks to Sinclair’s precious fucking need to see him in better health, he was positive he’d be able to make it to town with much greater ease than the first time.

All at once his fantasies of escape came back, fresh, vivid and for the first time since he was captured – obtainable. He couldn’t risk getting his revenge on Sinclair though, he had to get out before the man came back. He said he would return in the afternoon right? So that meant Blaire had a few good hours to get to town and find a way to get further. He could risk a bus trip and maybe steal some money from someone to get wherever it was he was going to run to.

Anywhere was going to be better than here.

Funny how earlier he’d been thinking this place was his only salvation. Give a man even a sliver of hope and they’ll run with it. Even someone as meticulous and well bred, as Blaire was susceptible to desperation. Oh and he was _desperate_ , even if he’d never admit it to himself.

Jeremy pulled himself out of bed and was stunned by how weak his body was. He’d been getting fed and fixed up routinely but his poor muscles had been out of use for a solid week, excluding the minor trips to the bathroom where Sinclair all but decided to carry him. It took Jeremy a while to get his legs and arms accustomed to having weight on them again but he knew that time was not his ally in his endeavor so he had to force himself to move earlier than his aching joints would have liked.

As he cautiously crept down the stairs, Jeremy found that Sinclair had moved a few things around. There was less dust hanging around he he’d cleared out most of the forest oddities that had found their way inside. Annoyingly that included the stick that Jeremy had used during his first trip to town, he’d have to find something else to help him.

As Jeremy escaped out into the forest again, he only had one regret and that was not being able to see Sinclair’s expression when he found him missing. He would have to privately enjoy that victory with his own imagination.

And just this once Jeremy’s imagination did not let him down.

It was a beautifully pathetic expression he imagined.

 

…  
…

 

Mary had left them after a while, knowing she had to return to the shop before her only other employee got angry and decided to just leave. Heaven knows they would. Sinclair had waved goodbye to her with a smile, quietly relieved that she’d left. He still had things to say, things he couldn’t have her hearing.  
She still seemed pure and gentle to her core – Sinclair wanted to preserve that after having seen the effects of destroying it. 

“I found him.” Sebastian told his comatosed brother calmly. “I know it’s probably not what you would have wanted…but we need this. We _need_ Blaire.”

Sebastian rest his elbows on his brother’s bed, placing his face in his hands as he spoke. All of his weariness pouring out of him as he spoke to what was essentially a brick wall. He just had to…confess? How appropriate, Father Martin had always said it was better to confess to the darkest actions and thoughts of the human mind. 

But up until just recently…Sinclair had nothing to confess to.

“I haven’t hurt him.” Sebastian added, as though that resolved him of blame. “He’s pretty badly hurt already…but I’m doing what I can for him. Hah…you were so angry with me when I stopped to check on him in the asylum, told me I was trying to fix up a corpse. Those were your exact words weren’t they? I guess I can rub that in your face when you wake up.” 

For a moment Sebastian paused, risking a glance at his brother’s sleeping face through the gaps in his fingers. Riley’s face was pale and sunken, he looked horrible really. The dark circles under his eyes looked more like bruises than lack of proper nutrition. Riley had always been the larger out of the two of them, a sturdy wall that Sebastian could hide behind when he was afraid. Sebastian dearly wished that Riley had never protected him…if he hadn’t been protecting Sebastian then he wouldn’t be in this hospital bed at all.

 

…  
…

 

“Where did he go?” Sebastian snarled furiously, turning to look down the halls he’d just seen Blaire vanish down. How was it the man was still so spritely on his feet? After Sebastian had stabbed him, he’d expected Jeremy to be a little more compliant. But he’d been both infuriated and impressed by the older man’s resolve. This little game of cat and mouse was actually sort of fun – but Sinclair was getting bored now.

He could hear things shifting in the asylum, there were whispers going around already.

“The groom is dead.” One variant had chattered as he rushed past Sebastian, caught between hysterical sobbing and laughter. “Dead, dead, dead. Killed by his little bride. Pretty, lovely little bridey.”

“The doctor, the doctor!” Another had been ranting with an air of glee. “Did you see? Did you see it? He’s been split in half by the witness, sliced in two. Two doctors got to be better than one right?”

“Father Martin is lighting up Christmas day. Candle Martin, candle Martin!” It was almost a song coming out of the third variant. The sort of carol that one might have cherished in childhood when the snow began to fall and the chimes of Christmas bells could be heard throughout the world.

“Shush, hush.” One variant had come directly to Sinclair only moments before, with a word of caution. “Careful brother Sinclair, careful, cautious. The big one, our walker is dead. Mashed and mulched by our darling god. Hush, shush, speak not a word of it to our Warden. Heart breaking, Warden is sad.”

Sinclair did not rejoice in hearing these things. How could he? His heart was breaking all over again.The groom was dead? Walker to? Even Father Martin, the kind priest he’d known so well?

His patients…they were dropping like flies.

Gritting his teeth, Sinclair tightened his grip on the scissors in his hand and began to stalk Blaire with renewed vigor. It was Blaire’s fault, all the bloody man’s fault! Eddie might have been mad as a bat and Walker was certainly a force to be evaded rather than reckoned with, but they had been _his_ madmen.

All because Blaire didn’t know how to play nice, all because he needed to be taught a little lesson on empathy. Well, Sinclair fully intended to teach it to him, one strip of flesh peeling at a time.

A sudden clatter down towards the administration block caused Sebastian to snap his head up, eyes narrowing into thin slits as he listened for further movement. The echo of many heavy boots rushing through the building abruptly reached Sebastian’s ears and his immediate reaction was irritation. More complications come to bother his patients, _really_?

Holding the scissors up a bit Sinclair wondered just how many people he could take down with the small weapons if they were to be carrying guns on their person. Perhaps two or three, more if he got the element of surprise. That would be enough for him. 

Flipping his scissors once in the air, Sinclair followed the sound as it grew louder with every step the men took into the asylum. When the first dark shadows appeared at the end of the hall, they showed up in pairs. Quickly Sinclair pressed himself up tight against the wall, concealed behind a bookcase. He listened to the two stumble closer, spitting curses and slurred words of disgust, they were judging them. Calling them monsters, freaks, and crazies. Those words grated on his nerves and Sebastian very nearly lashed out too early. But he waited, biding his time until the first of the pair took their first step past him.

All it took was one slash and the world once again turned red. A splash of red filled the air and the horrendous gurgling of a man choking on his own blood. Behind him the man’s partner let out a cry, it sounded like he was trying to say the first man’s name but Sinclair already knew they’d made too much noise and immediately turned on the second man. This one took more effort, he’d been alerted to the danger and so he blocked his throat with his arms when Sinclair tried to do him in quickly.

“Pity.” Sinclair muttered as he lunged at the man, throwing his body onto the unprepared guard and knocking them both to the ground. As soon as the man’s back hit the floor, Sinclair threw his arms up into the air and flung the blade down towards the man’s face. They had goggles on and the sharp scissors managed to pierce the material covering the guard’s eyes, barely scrapping along those wide, frightened orbs.

He had tried to get up, tried to struggle but once the scissors were in his goggles, the man froze. He was afraid, Sinclair understood and he even smiled sympathetically as he withdrew the blade from the plastic. 

“This could have been quick.” He murmured sadly before throwing the scissors down again, smashing them through the already fragile goggles and straight into the man’s face. One hand had to cover his mouth as the guard tried to scream and thrash about, while the other tried desperately to dig through the poor soul’s eyes and find his brain. Sinclair did not know this man, he saw no reason to prolong his suffering, and so he did his best to find the quickest way to end that pain. Only when he stopped twitching and trying to push Sinclair away, to became deathly still did Sebastian stop digging.

Slowly he retrieved the scissors from the man’s eyes, not bothering to stop and admire the mess he’d made. There was very little left of the man’s face, he did have some faint hope that he would be recognizable enough for people to tell his family where he died. But that was hardly his problem now.

Tilting his head up Sebastian listened for more sounds of guards but found it to be oddly…quiet.

Confused Sebastian head towards the administration block, figuring a few might still be prowling around there. Sebastian was frustrated to find that the only way to get to the administration block from where he was now, was to go through the underground lab. He hadn’t really been through the main section of that place since this all happened, he wasn't keen on navigating the cold halls again but it was his only choice, so reluctantly he went. How long had the guards been here that they’d made it this far into the building? Had they killed many of his patients?

Concern mingled with his rage and Sebastian turned a blind eye to everything around him except the path to the lobby. But as he made his way through the underground labs, Sinclair felt as though something was not quite right.

The place was a mess, not unusual considering the circumstances, but there were things that just didn’t add up. The machine he’d learnt to fear the mere mention of did not seem to be working and a rather grotesque sight of the bloodied containment spheres greeted Sebastian when he investigated.

“The machine is not running… So where is the Walrider?” Sebastian whispered to himself as he rest his palm flat against one of the glass spheres, whoever had been inside of it was now nothing more than a blood stained, mangled corpse.

“This…this isn’t Billy is it?” A horrifying thought struck Sebastian. Had Billy been killed? Could this motionless body truly be the host that Walrider had chosen?

“No, no, no. Oh please no.” Feverishly Sebastian ran his fingers over the glass, tapping and prodding at it to see if the body within might stir. Nothing, not a twitch. The person in there was dead, _Billy_ was dead.

“That’s impossible!” Sebastian slammed his fist against the glass, grief turning to rage as he stormed away from the core of the machine and towards the corridors that lead back upstairs. “Walrider would have protected Billy! So why? Why did it fail?”

Thoughts swarmed in Sinclair’s head. Ideas of men in guns and armor cutting off Billy’s vitals. There was no way a stray variant or single lone survivor could have done this. Sebastian’s mind refused to believe that a human capable of such a feat existed.

He had not yet met one Miles Upshur.

Abruptly Sinclair’s monstrous grief was cut short as the sounds of frantic gunfire and screaming echoed from somewhere ahead of him. The screams did not belong to variants though; Sinclair could clearly distinguish desperate orders being shouted when there was a distinct _lack_ of order. As he drew closer Sebastian could hear men screaming like they’d seen a monster, exclamations of faith and questions of humanity all came flooding down the hall, accompanied by the sickening sound of flesh being shredded.

He knew that sound.

“Walrider.” Sebastian felt weary but also relieved. So perhaps he misunderstood something before? Perhaps the Walrider had protected its host and Billy had simply…been asleep. Yeah, that was all. Or maybe he’d even left the chamber somehow? 

Foolishly Sebastian believed these fantasies and continued down the hall as the sounds of death began to fall quiet. When Sebastian entered the room that the guards had no doubt come storing through, he was greeted by a pile of bodies – or at least parts of them.

The stench was unbearable, even for Sebastian. Violently bile rose up in his throat and the former therapist dropped to his knees, gagging on what small amount of food was left in his stomach. Bitter tears stung the corners of his eyes and began to traitorously leak out down his cheeks.

And as he crouched there, barely able to breathe as the stink of blood and vital organs strewn around suffocated him, Sinclair was finally found.

“Seb!” The sound of a familiar childhood nickname caused Sebastian to jerk upright, lifting his tearstained face from his bloodied hands. He knew the nickname, and _oh_ how well he knew the voice that spoke it, but for a moment Sebastian forgot entirely whom it belonged to.

 _Who--_?

The thought barely registered in Sebastian’s mind as he turned towards the sound of his name being called.

What he saw was an exhausted asylum guard, frantically reaching out for him in the madness with a ready smile of overwhelming relief. For a moment Sebastian’s mind remained blank, refusing to process the information his eyes were giving it. This person did not fit the hellish surroundings Sebastian had come to know in the last few weeks, this person was too bright to belong here. 

_This person was…_

“Riley!” Sebastian screamed his older brother’s name, not in joy or relief but in terrified warning. Behind Riley a monstrous wall of shadow was looming.

 … _Dead_.

Walrider was very much alive but it seemed that fact was about to render Riley unable to continue to be so. Riley took one look over his shoulder and Sebastian saw his jaw clench in a familiar way. He knew immediately that Riley was more stupid than he was afraid, more chivalrous than he was smart.

Without warning Riley’s entire body turned on the spot, leaping back a few steps as well as turning his back to Sebastian. One arm was thrown out across his little brother’s body, pushing him down behind Riley’s larger figure and the other was held out towards Walrider like it might somehow shield them from it.

It did not.

Sebastian watched with wide, terrified eyes as Walrider’s ghostly claws wrapped around Riley’s arm and gave one sudden violent _yank_. Its claws shredded through flesh with ease and its impossibly strong hand pulled Riley’s arm right out of its socket and Sebastian watched helplessly as his brother’s elbow split and tore at the joint – taking Riley’s right arm with it. 

It was the sound.

That ungodly sound as his brother's bones began to crack and strain under the pressure. He heard as Riley's skin was abruptly torn apart, ripping under Walrider's claws as though it was nothing more than flimsy fabric coming undone at the seams. Sebastian did not think anyone else in the world would ever understand the horror of that sound.

But above the sound of Riley’s body being torn to bits, it was the echo of his brother’s uncontained screaming that truly crawled under Sebastian’s skin. It was the most agonizing sound Sebastian had ever heard. Far above the wails and sobs of variants, even more disturbing than the times he’d witnessed the cannibalistic tendencies of some of the others around the asylum. This…this was the most horrible thing he’d ever heard, all because it came from Riley.

Walrider tossed Riley’s disconnected arm away like it was nothing and it seemed ready to do more, approaching the two brothers a second time without the need to take firm steps. It glided over leisurely, as though it had all the time in the world and again it raised its clawed hand.

“No, don’t!” Sebastian’s voice freed itself and he let out a pleading screech. His body was rapidly becoming soaked in Riley’s blood as it poured from the gaping hole left in his arm, but Sebastian still wrapped his arms around his brother’s body. The larger of the two Sinclair brothers had collapsed, his shrieks becoming low guttural moans and groans of indescribable agony.

Sebastian pathetically tried to protect Riley’s mortally wounded body with his own meeker form. His arms wrapped tightly around Riley as he let out senseless sobs. “Please, please don’t hurt him anymore! Why Billy? Why would you hurt Riley?” Sebastian wept openly, squeezing his brother more tightly.

The brother he thought he’d already lost – the brother he’d wronged by daring to forget him for even a moment, was now bleeding out in his arms and Sebastian had no way of protecting him from the Walrdier. For the first time since he was put into the morphogenic engine program, Sebastian had no thoughts of bloodlust or hatred for his old employer – his only thought was of his brother’s heart and the feverish desire to keep it beating.

As he sat there crying over his brother, Sebastian failed to notice that they actually were still breathing. The Walrider had not torn into them anymore than this. Sebastian wouldn’t have noticed this at all in fact, had he not heard footsteps approaching them. The Walrider made no such sound and so he knew it had to be a human making the sound. Instinctively Sebastian held Riley closer to his chest as he looked up at the person that approached them.

This person was not Billy, in fact they didn’t even look much like a _person_ at all anymore.

Sebastian stared up at the figure shrouded in shadows and noticed the Walrider seemed to be lingering over their shoulder. Oh…they were the new host? Sebastian felt cold tears continue to slide down his face as he stared up at the stranger, waiting for whatever they would do next. 

“He protected, did not try to harm.” The stranger spoke in an emotionless echo, his words only just faintly resembling something akin to confusion or surprise. “Why? Why protect?” Sebastian could hear the strain in the male’s voice, like speaking was a difficult task to accomplish. The Walrider’s possession must have been excruciating at first, perhaps even more so than the man’s two missing fingers were. He must have had a rough time in the asylum.

“My brother.” Sebastian replied thickly, his voice choked by tears and the irritating need to sniffle. “He’s my brother.”

The man’s eyes had no pupils; they were nothing more than large empty voids that stared straight through Riley and Sebastian. He lacked emotion but there was some sort of calculation going on behind those black pools. The host was judging them, using his divine power as the god Walrider’s host to see if they should deserve to keep breathing or if they would become another pretty blood splatter on the ground.

Slowly he approached the two Sinclair boys and Sebastian hugged Riley closer once again. The protective motion did not go unnoticed by the host, who paused mid-step when he saw Sebastian’s fear. He could practically smell the fear coming off the blonde variant. 

“Get out.” He said finally, the host’s voice came out in a low, feral rumble – but it spoke words of comfort. “Escape from here.”

Ah, there it was.  
Their god had spared them.

Neither brother would refuse the generous offer.

   
…  
…

 

He’d started to cry again. Sebastian took hold of his brother’s sleeping hand and held it up to his forehead as the silent tears escaped him.

“If I hadn’t been there, you would still have two arms.” Sebastian whispered with a dry chuckle. His choked on that laughter and it quickly turned to a dry sob. “Please wake up, please…you’re all I have left now. It’s just us; you always said you’d stay with me right? So please…just wake up.”

He could have begged all day and his brother would not have responded. He would not be roused by pleas – Riley needed money.

Sebastian grit his teeth and furrowed his brows in concentration. Yes, he needed funding and he finally had a source of getting that money. He had Jeremy Blaire. 

“I’m going to save you this time, just you wait and see Riley. I’ll protect you.” Sebastian smiled meekly as he held Riley’s hand against his lips, as if his sleeping brother might be able to feel the smile. “Just you wait and see.”

Sebastian had stayed a little longer after that, until a nurse had to ask him to leave for the night. He had been polite and composed when he left but it tore at his heart to leave his brother’s side again, especially when he looked so vulnerable and lonely in that hospital bed.  But he left reluctantly like always and promised to come and visit again as soon as possible.

It was chilly outside when Sebastian left the hospital and he had to pull his jacket around his shoulders more tightly. His body gave a small shudder against the frigid air and as he let out a shaky puff of hot air, Sebastian realized that it was probably very cold for Blaire back at that old house. It had too many holes in it to retain any heat and Blaire only had a light blanket to keep him warm – Sebastian would have to get back to him quickly.

With hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets Sebastian head back the way he’d come. However out of the corner of his eyes Sebastian noticed a dark figure lingering by the backdoor of the hospital. Sebastian almost completely passed the silent figure, but slowly he came to a stop not far from the male lingering in the shadows.

“You came to visit again…?” Sebastian murmured quietly but the other did not respond verbally. Instead they turned and walked in the opposite direction, going to do god only knows what that person did in their leisure time.

Sebastian smiled all the same, knowing that the eerily quiet man was no threat and that he really had just been there for a ‘visit.’ Sebastian knew that the man wanted to apologize in some way to Riley when he woke up, so he never shooed them away.

“You could have just asked to come see him you know. You’re surprisingly shy, Miles.” With a private smile, Sebastian tugged his hood over his eyes and continued on his original path.

Having decided that he’d get better results with Blaire when the man was comfortable, Sebastian had dug up some blankets and instant cups of soup from the local store for Blaire to have when there were cold nights like this. Sebastian hoped that he could make Blaire comfortable and get the money he needed more quickly in the process. 

Actually the thoughts had him in a pretty good mood as he entered the old abandoned house that night. He even had a smile on his face when he opened the door to Jeremy’s room, and then he dropped everything he’d brought when he realized – Blaire was _gone_.

Sebastian stood in the doorway, staring into the darkroom that was lacking the most vital part of all this. His smile slowly fell away and gradually thoughts of offering warm blankets and soups were trampled.

The previously kind thoughts were being drowned out by old feelings. Sebastian calmly reached into his bag and found his new choice of tool when it came to persuading Blaire to see things his way.

“Jeremy.” Sebastian sighed in an almost lyrical voice, speaking in the same voice he’d used when he caught sight of Blaire for the first time in the asylum. “Where did you get off to in such a hurry at this time of night?”

Sinclair stepped over the blankets he’d abandoned and once again left the house, this time all he had in his hands was an old pair of scissors. Perhaps they needed to have a small trip down nostalgia road, just the _two_ of them reliving old times.

They were going to have to do something about those hamstrings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may need a quick break after this.


	6. Comparisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m just gunna say it now, this is fairly dull. But it's important to do this, next chapter we can make things a bit more exciting.  
> Thankfully something is gunna go snap next chapter. That ought to make up for it.

Perhaps tonight had not been the best night for the world to grace Blaire with a chance at escape.

As soon as he’d stepped into the town, Jeremy had been hit by an icy gust of wind and from there it only got colder. Up in the mountains it was known to snow and Blaire wouldn’t have been surprised if it snowed in the town as well. But surely it wasn’t that cold yet? It couldn’t be anywhere near the minus levels yet right?  
Even so the clothes that Sinclair had brought him felt thin when they tried to keep out the chill and every small breeze seemed to pass right through him, chilling his insides to the bone as they leisurely sapped away all his body’s warmth.

Mentally spitting curses at his piss poor luck, Jeremy continued to work his way through the town. His new stick wasn’t nearly as good as its predecessor and he found himself constantly getting splinters in his palm. He couldn’t afford to stop and pick them out though, he felt as though there was a limited window of opportunity for him to put distance between himself and the old house.

Jeremy had not forgotten how this game worked, he had a head start but he knew Sinclair was pretty quick on his feet and all but seemed to have a sixth sense _just_ for tracking Blaire down. Frankly it would not have surprised Jeremy much at this point if Sinclair really did have such a thing.

“Stupid bastard should have given me warmer clothes.” Blaire snarled in complaint, hugging his arms around his torso a little more tightly. However after having spoken, Jeremy felt a gnawing empty feeling in his stomach and realized that he needed food as well. This wasn’t particularly alarming seeing as he hadn’t eaten since the night before, Sinclair had brought him actual meat that night and Blaire had damn near reverted to a primitive animal when he saw it. Who could blame him? He’d been living off purely vegetation food for a bloody weak before it!

Jeremy wondered idly if he could have persuaded Sinclair to bring him a proper meal some time. He was usually above something like pizza, seeing it as food for the uneducated masses, but the thought of a meat-lovers right now was enough to make Blaire’s stomach do flips.

So what he should have demanded was pizza, warmer clothes and a better walking stick. Sinclair was a useless idiot for not having given those things to Blaire alrea--

Jeremy pulled his mental train of thought to a grinding halt, realizing much to his genuine horror just how much of a trend there was here. His every bloody thought was filled with Sebastian Sinclair, granted they were almost all uncomplimentary thoughts but he should have forgotten about Sinclair the moment he got free. His only thoughts on his former captor should have revolved around avoiding him and getting away, not making a mental shopping list of things he wanted to complain about to him.

His head was all messed up, Jeremy blamed this on the seven different types of hell he’d been through in the space of two weeks. Once he got himself set back up with all his assets in order and a mountain of whiskey, then he would be back to his former self and right as rain.

With his thoughts now guarded and no more wandering allowed, Blaire took a weary look around the town he was trekking through. He knew that he wasn’t going to get far in this cold or on his busted foot, which liked to remind him of its brokenness every time he took a poorly planned step. What Jeremy needed now was some sort of transport, a bus would be ideal though the thought of sharing a trip with a bunch of strangers made him feel sick.

There was bound to be questions if anyone noticed how messed up he was, thankfully his bandages and new clothes were enough to hide the majority of his injuries. Then of course there was the big problem of money, he didn’t exactly have a wallet on his person so there was no chance of him withdrawing money or happening across a few coins to buy himself a trip on the bus.

So here he was, back to square one, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar little town wondering how long it’d be before he was found and dragged back to his pathetic little bed by Sinclair.

He needed to do something clever, and he needed to do it now. 

Alright, so what did he know about everyday, boring people? Well for starters they seemed convinced they could win brownie points with whatever god they believed in if they were charitable. Which in itself was a laughable notion, most of the gods Jeremy knew of were too busy destroying entire countries and ordering people to kill their young, to give a toss about some old jolly giving a shiny nickel to a hobo. But, he digressed, this really wasn’t the time to start questioning possible solutions.

Jeremy paused to think about the small forms of charity he knew of, organized donations wouldn’t help him and if it had anything to do with a tip in the form of a check it was still no good. Smaller forms of ‘good will’ would be more helpful, but if he flat out tried to take a tip jar and got caught on camera, he’d be the most humiliated person to ever have the pleasure of being murdered by Murkoff.

That left more personal charity, as in giving to a beggar.

Immediately Jeremy’s temper flared at the mere thought of _begging_. He was not going to debase himself to pleading with common idiots for their loose coins!

 _However_ , he reasoned with himself quickly, _if I were to lie to them, say I needed the money for some sentimental nonsense about family, or even just ask for some bus money to get home – they might be daft enough to believe me._

Yes, this idea was much better. Jeremy Blaire did not beg, he extorted and swindled to get his money. This was simply…a smaller scale from his usual exploits.

For once his battered and broken appearance could be used to his advantage, a small sympathy vote was never a bad thing to have in reserve. Murkoff knew this better than most; after all they operated under the guise of charity.

After having reached that conclusion the rest came easily. Cautiously Blaire looked for someone that looked like they had a loose hold on their money and once he selected someone that seemed like they fit the bill, he staged his performance.

Halfway through his explanation as to why he needed a bus ticket, Blaire realized that this act of his was only half true. Every word out of his mouth was overflowing with falsities and his retelling of the ‘accident’ that gave him these horrendous injuries was infested with inaccuracies, but he had no need to pretend he was in pain or that his body would not be able to make the trip without the bus.

His every bone lent itself to his lies, giving truth to every wince and queasy smile he gave in order to obtain the bleeding heart’s money. He’d chosen a woman with a kind face, someone that looked like she would put flies outside rather than swat them.

Despite her gentle appearance, there was something in her blue eyes that unsettled Blaire, she looked familiar up close and he couldn’t decide if that was something that should have alarmed him or not. Apparently she didn’t find him familiar in the slightest however and she turned out to be a good choice as Blaire found himself being handed folding money for the bus.

It was only when the whole façade came to an end and they parted ways, with a small touch of advice from the young woman on where the bus stop was, that Jeremy thought about his lie.

He’d acquired two children and a loving wife in his tall tales, not a bad touch to add family and a waiting home to return to, but what struck Blaire as odd was the fact he’d actually stolen the likeness of another family for his stories. He’d practically described the Park family in his fictions.

As Blaire sat himself down on the bus stop bench, with a considerable amount of discomfort, he concluded that it was not a bad choice. Park’s family did have a strange sunny sort of disposition about them, to Jeremy they almost seemed as made up as his stories had been. The sort of family that people saw on television with the white picket fence and grassy front yard.

Jeremy’s own family hadn’t quite fit that description. Their house was certainly more impressive than the Park’s little two story home, and their gardens were filled with perfectly kept roses rather than weeds too stubborn and deep rooted to be removed.

His house had fireplaces around elegant furniture; the Park’s had a little coffee table with a sunlit room to be filled with guests. Jeremy’s home had many empty bedrooms that were rarely filled but always cleaned to perfection; the Parks had three bedrooms one of which was probably kept for their friends and extended family members.

The Park’s had a quaint life, Blaire had an extravagant life.  
Simple as that.

“Hmpf, maybe not so quaint now with Park dead.” Jeremy muttered under his breath with a quiet snort of derision.

He did not think the house would be so damnably cheerful with the father of two children gone. They probably didn’t even know it properly yet, still thought Park was insane and being treated by Murkoff. Unless they’d caught wind of the unfortunate fire that most certainly killed all the patients. Either way their Waylon was gone.

Jeremy wasn’t going to pity them, but surprisingly he didn’t laugh at the thought either.  
He simply mulled it over in silence as he huddled against the cold and waited for the bus.

The wait really was the worst part, because he never every second that passed was another possible second that his captor had caught onto him. In a desperate effort not to think about the likely hood of Sinclair picking up their old pass time game of run and stalk, Blaire instead focused on what he’d do once he actually managed to get some distance between himself and this place.

One or two towns over wouldn’t be enough, if Blaire had his way he’d be out of the country before the week was out. But with what money and passport? Well he might be cut off from Murkoff and the usual conventional methods of getting around for the time being but Jeremy Blaire was never one to place all his eggs in one thoroughly corrupt basket – he had other sources besides Murkoff to fall back on.

He’d busy himself with getting into contact with those he knew would keep quiet and still owed him a dodgy favor or two. He’d find proper medical treatment from someone that wasn’t liable to choke him to death on any given visit and then Blaire would set himself back up and begin to rebuild.

Hopefully with time he’d find the safest way to contact Murkoff and weasel his way back into their good favor – that day was a long way off though. For now a holiday somewhere sunny might be in order. Yes, a nice break from raving lunatics and peppy techies was exactly what he needed, that and more martinis than he could begin to pay for.

Gradually these loosely woven plans eased Blaire’s nerves. He knew that one way or another he had to move forward, time wasn’t going to halt so he could put his shit back together, so he had to move on ahead of it again. It wasn’t going to be easy but Jeremy almost preferred that, nothing good came cheaply after all.

Just as Jeremy managed a private smile, the bus decided to make its appearance. The standard buss chugged to a lethargic stop, giving a small wail as the breaks were set and the double doors creaked open. The first emotion that registered in Jeremy’s mind was reluctance. He hesitated before standing to approach the bus and then again paused at the door, looking in at the fatigued driver who was sporting wrinkles around his eyes from too many years of carefree laughter and smiles.

It took Blaire a few seconds to realize why he was so uncertain about his movements. The action of stepping onto this bus and escaping the town almost seemed like the final nail in the coffin – his coffin to be precise.

It felt as though the wrath that was Sinclair could be soothed if Blaire abandoned this escape attempt now and waited for the man to find him – as he most certainly would in this tiny town. But if Jeremy got on this bus now, he had the most sickening sense of dread that Sinclair would not be so easily pacified should he somehow find Jeremy.

“To hell with ‘im.” Jeremy growled under his breath, stepping onto the bus finally.

He ignored the driver’s quietly confused expression and silently held out the money he’d gained from his theatrics. The driver still seemed a little alarmed by Blaire’s general appearance, behavior and all around atmosphere – understandable but Jeremy wasn’t going to stop and explain himself.

“Ah…hey buddy.” Jeremy flinched. “This bus is going to be stopping twice more tonight…are you heading to either of those places?”

“Yes.” He answered simply, keeping it short and sweet. “The last stop.”

Jeremy’s vague understanding of the bus’s route, provided by that _lovely_ young lady, was that the last stop was in a town a bit larger than this one. One that had more substantial uses than the one he was in now, that would have to do for the time being.

Without questioning Blaire any further the driver nodded, taking the money and returning some coins in change to Jeremy. Not feeling particularly chatty, Jeremy took himself to the back of the mostly empty bus. It was warmer inside the metal box of a vehicle than it was outside but Jeremy still had to wrap his clothes tightly around him to keep from shuddering on occasion.

As the bus slowly rolled back into motion and the dim lights of the town gradually faded into the darkness behind them, Jeremy entertained himself with staring out the window. The sky was only getting darker as true nighttime began to set in. It was only going to get colder from here but thankfully their little bus trip was going to take Jeremy down further, away from the chilly mountain air and closer to the ground. Not enough to have him stop fighting against the cold but enough to ease his shivering.

With a heavy sigh of fatigue, Jeremy slumped against the window and his seat. He knew it would be careless to sleep on the bus but he still felt weary. A stupid way to feel considering he’d done nothing except eat and sleep for the last few days, but he was still in bad shape and exhaustion came easily.

There was something relaxing about the bus trip. Seeing distance being cleared rapidly without the need for Jeremy to exert his already battered body. He’d been able to achieve nothing in that bed, the simple act of being driven to a new destination gave Jeremy a release he did not realize he had needed until this moment.  
Although if he had to complain then he would admit that a bus was not the way he would have chosen to travel. It was filthy, cramped and he disliked any activity that had him mingling with the unwashed masses.

If the ends justified the means, that was what he’d always lived by and so this should be no different. Even if the means made his skin crawl.

Discarding those less than encouraging thoughts, Blaire eased himself back into his seat and allowed his eyes to slip shut. All the sleep in the world and he still felt exhausted, Blaire could barely remember a time when the fatigue had not been with him. He thought back groggily to before he’d been penalized with Sinclair’s mere presence and then had to move back further to before the riot at the asylum…and then he still had to think back.

His mind sorted through memory after memory. He passed the day that Rick had been moved downstairs and then continued on past the first time he’d encounter both the Sinclair brothers and Park. The further back he went the more weary he felt, the heavier the weight seemed to become. When had be last felt light? Rather than looking for a lack of tiredness, Blaire sought out the fleeting moments in his memory that shone faintly in his mind.

Occasionally he’d get a kick out of his job. The joy of watching people squirm and knowing he had absolute control over their otherwise pointless lives. He remembered fondly the day that Park had slipped up and been caught trying to blow the whistle. Blaire damn near smiled but his mind rapidly supplied the memory that came almost immediately after that small moment of release – the bloody collapse of everything he’d built up.

Blaire tried to go back further, to before the asylum, to before Murkoff but he found his memory was only getting murkier as he went. The further he removed himself from his time at Murkoff, the less he remembered. It had been everywhere with him from the moment he was born it seemed. Now logically that was impossible but really Murkoff was only a name – it was the concept that had followed him.

His parents were just as busy as he was, a different company and a new name but the same exact shit. Extort, climb, cheat and lie, all behind the white collar. Blearily Jeremy opened his eyes, the jostling of the bus blurring in and out of focus before he gave up the effort and let his eyes close away. He gained no clarity with his eyes open anyway. His parents faces seemed lost behind suits and political smiles, he tried to sharpen his memory, tried to remember if his mother had a pretty face or if his father had been cleanly cut. 

He got very little. When was the last time he’d even seen the two? He vaguely remembered talking to his father on the phone some months ago, or maybe it was years? What had they talked about? It took Jeremy a few seconds to find event he faintest recollection of their conversation and he very nearly laughed. 

Of course they’d talked about work. What else mattered? With a surprisingly bitter smile Jeremy wondered if he’d every talked about anything else with his parents. He didn’t remember feeling a great desire to please his parents in any way, there had been a nagging need to surpass them. To make more money, secure a better position, maybe impress them a little.

It occurred to Blaire that he’d never heard his old man praise him.  
Not that it should have mattered in the slightest, Jeremy knew he’d done well and he didn’t need any old coots approval.

None the less…Jeremy found himself wondering what exactly praise would sound like coming from the old man. Well, didn’t every little boy and their dog chase after their pop's acknowledgement? Jeremy wasn’t so lowly as to run after such a useless thing. His fathers pride wouldn’t buy him the bottle of whisky that he so badly needed, nor would it mend his shattered body – it was worthless.

He had no need of worthless things.

With that thought lingering on his mind and the words on his tongue, Jeremy allowed himself to slip off to the gentle tumble of the bus and he ended up dreaming of better times. Marginally better.

 

…  
…  
…

  

Fucking incompetent little bastards.

Blaire was going to lose his mind if one more idiot came up to him with a complaint.  
I miss my family, I’m being worked too hard, my co-workers are aggressive. Bitch, whine and moan at every little thing.

Taking a deep breath Jeremy violently raked his fingers through his hair, combing back the strands that had gotten loose in his furious pacing. The little shits wanted their families bad enough to actually vocalize their complaints to him, that alone was a bad sign.

Thoughts of rebellion or discontent were troubling enough but to have the nerve to _speak_ them – that was on a whole other level of disobedience. Being individual, speaking out of turn – those were the things that got you institutionalized. Those were the things that brought Jeremy-fucking-Blaire to your door in the dead of night with armed guards on either side.

“Mr. Blaire…sir?”

With his frustration reaching breaking point Jeremy damn near snapped at the person who had balls enough to talk to him at that exact moment. Whipping around, ready to start shouting, Blaire found himself looking at one of the guards responsible for not only the control of patients but also Jeremy’s own safety, and it just so happened that he was Jeremy _least_ favorite guard. At the very least the feeling seemed to be mutual, not that the sniveling dog would dare voice such feelings.

One would think that when faced with someone that they loathed, their anger would only be amplified. Seeing the eldest Sinclair brother instead brought a smile onto Jeremy’s face. A lesser man would have broken down laughing to the point of tears, a weaker man’s control would have slipped and he would begin bragging all about his deeds – but Blaire was better than that, and he’d still enjoy this just as much as the lesser man would have.

Immediately the irritation drained from his body, the muscles he’d wound up tightly in his agitated pacing gradually lost their tension and the rapid pulsing of his blood through his vines slowed to a placid pace. His entire body was set at ease with the knowledge that he was no longer the person under the most strain in the room, that title now belonged to Riley Sinclair. The idiot of a guard appeared visibly worn by the pressures pushed onto him by Blaire. His job was not an easy one, even if he had not come with the extra baggage that was his little brother.

The asylum was full of nutters and mixed in with the patients was more than enough brutality from the other guards to make even the most well established man become unhinged and immoral. It was the situation that created monsters, authority and control was given to be abused and Jeremy took no small amount of pleasure in watching as good men turned ruthless when given free reign to degrade and abuse the patients.

The situation demanded good men do bad things and Riley was no exception to this rule, however Blaire was pleased that rather than becoming pitiless himself, Riley seemed to buckle and stumble under the weight of his own actions. 

Oh sure.  
Blaire called the shots, but Riley carried them out to perfection without fail. He was an ideal employee in that sense but more fitting as a toy. Something to help Jeremy momentarily release the tension that had built up in his body each day.

And most wonderfully – he never dared to complain. 

Not that it mattered; Blaire could see it all in the man’s face. An open book in every sense of the phrase. Dark rings under his eyes had rapidly formed in his first few weeks under Blaire’s ‘ _guidance_ ’ and his lips seemed permanently fixed in an expression of forced disinterest or anguish. The man was a train wreck of the most beautiful kind, this might have irritated Jeremy had it effected the man’s performance at work but the dark haired Sinclair boy just kept on going. It was one of the more entertaining performances in the asylum.

As if he knew exactly what was going on inside of Blaire’s head – which may have very well been the case – Riley tensed under his superior’s gaze. Today he wore that professional disconnected expression, Blaire and noticed he was rather good with a poker face – too bad his exhausted body gave him away to more observant eyes. 

Riley stared at Blaire and the executive was just able to feel the helplessness that rolled off the broad shouldered male in waves. Riley was a big man but even big men could be broken with the correct words – now if only Blaire could find those words for the _other_ Sinclair boy.

Riley had been easy, Sebastian was proving a little more difficult but Blaire reasoned he’d be able to wear the peppy brat down all in due time. Patience was  a virtue that Blaire could entertain for a while longer.

“Mr. Sinclair.” Blaire’s smile widened when Riley winced. “Such perfect timing you have!”

“Sir…?” His tone was guarded but there was a hint of anxiety in his voice, Riley had a fair idea of where this was going.

“Yes, yes. I have a job for you that simply cannot wait. An orderly of ours seems to have been effected by the patients here. It seems as though he wants to resign, we’ve accepted his resignation but considering his questionable mental status – we’ve organized some treatment for him here. Would you kindly guide David Annapurna to his newly assigned room?”

As he spoke, Blaire carelessly walked behind his desk to flitter through the three resignation requests Annapurna had sent in and the final note on the matter that was originally sent to Mr. Walsh and then eventually to himself from Tragger regarding Annapurna’s delusional state.

When Blaire finally looked up form his desk, the file in his hand and a smile on his face, he was greeted with a very pale Riley Sinclair. It only took Blaire a moment to connect the dots and his smile twisted into a predatory smirk. Sinclair’s bratty little brother had already been chatting with Annapurna and judging by Riley’s expression alone they had formed some ill thought out friendship. _Wonderful_. 

“You look unwell Mr. Sinclair.” Jeremy cooed, stepping out from behind his desk while shutting the draw with a somewhat excessive force, just to see if Riley would jump. He was not disappointed. At the sound of the wooden drawer snapping shut, Riley winced as if the noise hurt his ears in the otherwise eerily silent room.

“I am fine sir.” Riley grit out the words, looking as though he would have much rather punched Blaire at that moment.

“I would hope so, if you are not in working condition I would be forced to reevaluate your position.” The words were spoken offhandedly and after a moment of thought Jeremy continued with. “After all the wellbeing of our workers is incredibly important to us here at Murkoff.” Just to add insult to injury.

Riley clenched his fists, took a subtle calming breath, and then unclenched them. This repeated twice, _clench, unclench,_ repeat once more before he was finally able to calmly vocalize his reply.

“Sir, I can work.” Jeremy’s smile remained as he watched the bulky man in front of him struggle just to speak at an indoor volume. Sinclair’s temper had been in his file and Jeremy enjoyed seeing just how far he could push the man before he snapped – so far he’d done impressively well but there was always room for more.

The significance of this ‘job’ was not lost on either of them. Blaire knew he was ordering Riley to do something that personally hurt the male. Ordering him to lock up a friend they both knew damn well was perfectly sane. However Riley was just as conscious of the dangers of not completing this task to Blaire’s satisfaction. Having a loved one, having family in the asylum gave Riley a risk that few others had. One foot out of line and the next person that would end up in a cell would be that shitty little brother of his and then not long after he’d follow.

So really there was no choice, Riley would do this even if meant betraying someone who could be considered a friend.  
There was no room for friendship in this place – Blaire was doing Riley a favour by teaching him that now.

“Very well.” Blaire approached Riley, holding the files out towards the guard expectantly. “Report back when you’re finished.”

 _I want to see your face after you’ve done this._

For a moment Riley hesitated. The hand he’d brought up to collect the papers with, flinched when he touched them, and for a fleeting second Riley’s hard eyes flashed and Blaire could see the conflict in that blue gaze. A moment later it was gone and Riley grabbed the files a little too roughly, his expression shifting back into one of callous apathy. 

Blaire felt the familiar sense of victory as he watched Riley turn away from him with the papers in hand. He’d felt that it had been a challenge from Rick the day he’d first met these brothers, Jeremy didn’t like the idea of Trager snickering at his methods and so he’d made an example of the two. 

Just as expected Riley had been the weak link because he was protective of his oblivious little brother. Hardly a week had passed by before Riley was at Blaire’s mercy. It had been embarrassingly easy, a few well placed comments about Sebastian’s safety and Riley had crumbled.

Now Blaire had the mutt so well trained that he need only give a simple order and he’d readily stab friends in the back. There was almost something endearing about that, and Blaire wasn’t above more playful torments. Perhaps he could get Riley on his knees in a few more days. Would that maybe be indulging himself a little too much at work? Well, Jeremy wouldn’t rule it out.

In Jeremy’s mind this was almost a perfect victory – _almost_.

There was one remaining nagging thought in the back of his mind. The fact that this endeavour was successful at all was the result of Riley’s care for his brother – that dug into Blaire’s nerves in ways he couldn't quite explain. During the few times he and Sebastian would be unfortunate enough to see one another, Blaire had taken a moment to ponder the reasons behind why Riley would be so willing to debase himself for the blonde idiot. 

The obvious answer seemed to be that they were family, but Jeremy had watched families rip one another apart over scraps at Murkoff. He’d watched brothers backstab one another before, so the family argument didn’t hold enough water in his mind. 

A less irritable reason may be that Riley felt a sense of ownership over the younger male. Perhaps it was a matter of protecting property? That would have made more sense in Jeremy’s mind but that didn’t seem to fit either. If it were a matter of ownership it was unlikely he’d let his brother do as he pleased so freely. 

Very quickly Jeremy found himself thinking about the whole thing far too much. It was a pointless train of thought to follow and he had better things to do. More important matters to attend to like the control of security and silencing of potential whistleblowers.

More important things like observing the charmingly wretched expression on Riley’s face when he returned from his job with the words ‘I’m so sorry’ lingering on his tongue.

A smile tugged at the corners of Jeremy’s mouth.  
_Beautiful_.

 

 

…  
…  
…

 

 

Jeremy jerked back into the waking world as the bus came to a grinding halt. He’d felt the bus moving about even while he dozed but this last stop was surprisingly abrupt and immediately Jeremy knew that this was going to be where he had to get off. 

The realization came with hasty complaints from his body; he knew that once he started to move again everything was going to begin aching again. But there was no other choice and Jeremy didn’t fancy living on a bus for the foreseeable future. So begrudgingly Jeremy began to gather up his sore body and shuffle towards the isle.

The double doors of the bus let out loud wails as they swung open up ahead of Blaire and a few other people shuffled off, leaving the remaindered of the bus void of life outside of himself and the bus driver. A impulsive fantasy briefly crossed Blaire’s mind as he imagined killing the bus driver and stealing his vehicle to get further away from where he’d started.

The fantasy wasn’t entertained for a second however. Jeremy knew damn well that killing anyone in his state was near impossible, not to mention a corpse would probably draw more than a little attention to him and that was literally the last thing he needed tonight. So without so much as throwing the driver a glance, Blaire climbed out of the bus and was once again greeted with a chilly gust of wind. 

The town that he’d just stepped into was what he could only call…quaint. It looked like the town was built for nothing more than suburban living and everything else came _after_ that. At a glance it was clearly bigger than the place he’d been stuck in, so the young lady’s account had been sound, but it was so pitifully mundane and nice looking that Blaire almost wished he’d gotten off at the earlier stop.

With a small sigh of irritation, Blaire began to trudge through town. The sun was long gone now and the street lights were almost the only source of reliable light he had to go off. As he ventured in deeper to the towns shopping district the lights became warmer and considerably brighter.

Shops of all kinds readily gave out warm orange light. Restaurants and less savory bars also provided a few flashing signs and Blaire had no difficulty navigating through the street. This town was decidedly more lively than the one he’d just come from. Frequently Blaire caught the sound of happy late night groups laughing about some private story or another and more than once he had to shuffle past people coming the other way.

He was undecided on how he felt about the change in population. Some part of Blaire reasoned more people meant he was harder to pick out but there were risks with a higher population as well – he’d just have to make do with this.

Now that Blaire had managed to actually make it far enough from the shack that he felt mildly safer, a whole world of other problems poured down onto his mind.

Where would he stay now? The likely hood of finding another abandoned house as ideal as the last one was not exactly encouraging. How would he manage to get more food? He could always risk stealing some more but that carried with it the possibility of drawing attention to himself. Hell, forget food, what about clothes or even medical supplies? 

Rapidly Jeremy’s perfect escape was beginning to come apart at the seams and gradually unravel before his very eyes. But he could not bring himself to feel regretful; even if this was not ideal he couldn’t have stayed where he’d been before. Strapped to a bed, waiting day in and out for his tormentor to return with the knowledge that every time Sinclair walked through that door, Jeremy’s life may just end. No, he couldn’t stay there.

Feeling considerably more miserable, Jeremy wrapped his arms more tightly around his sides and continued forward. He didn’t know what he was looking for but he couldn’t stop moving, not after he’d come this far.

Jeremy continued to shuffle on in no particular direction besides ‘progress’, until a familiar scent caught his attention. A low groan of exasperation slipped out of Jeremy as he hunched forward, trying unsuccessfully to bypass the heavy fragrance of alcohol. What he wouldn’t give for a martini about now.

Despite his better judgment Blaire risked a glance up at the open doorway that was allowing the smell to escape. A bar had never been below him but Jeremy had never sought them out either. Mingling with drunkards didn’t appeal to him anymore than the patients at the asylum had. In fact the chances of being glassed by a drunken idiot was about the same as the risk of a patient stabbing him – where at all possible he chose to avoid both scenarios.

A few minutes has lazily passed on by before Jeremy realized with a jolt of alarm that he was just staring at the door. The look on his face must have been wretched and full of longing, a pathetic expression for Blaire to be making. It was not a face he was accustomed to wearing himself, so much as seeing on others.

Jeremy caught a glimpse of himself in the tinted glass of the pub, and he almost recoiled from the sight. Immediately that dejected look was replaced by revulsion and then slowly his face softened into dull recognition.

“It looked better on Riley’s face.” Blaire muttered under his breath, running the mental image of Sinclair’s nauseating face through his mind. It really had looked better on the dark haired guard’s face – Blaire had smiled when he saw it back then and now it was lingering on his own features and Jeremy could have thrown up purely from disgust.

The grim sense of disgrace once again settled on Jeremy’s shoulders as he finally forced himself to turn away from the bar and continue on his path to anywhere. As he moved deeper into the communal area of the town, the place where the nice family orientated restaurants and tourist attraction pieces were placed, Jeremy heard the low roar of jubilant voices growing louder.

This felt a little familiar in itself. Jeremy was no stranger to appearing in the middle of people’s conversations, usually that was by design to catch some poor employee off guard and more often than not catch them out at an incriminating moment. Jeremy imagined every time he’d rounded a corner and done just that, and the few times where it didn’t matter how sharp his turn around the corner was or how sudden his appearance – the intended victim did not jump.

These occurrences were rare, blue moon sort of rare, which is why when it happened more than once with the same Sinclair boy – Jeremy was about ready to take a wrench to the boy’s face.

It didn’t help that Sinclair was almost _always_ saying something incriminating and _never_ seemed bothered when he was caught.

 

…  
…  
…

 

“Oh yes, I’m quite sure that you’ll be fine.”

Jeremy hadn’t actually meant to be lurking around his employees on that particular day. He’d actually been considering heading downstairs to the engine room to see exactly what they were putting Billy Hope through on that particular day.  
Maybe even subtly checking in on Rick while he was there. Not that Rick would know.

Rick might not even recognize him anymore.

However his plans were adjusted slightly when he overheard a familiar, grating, voice coming from around the corner. Jeremy’s steps slowed until he was motionless, just around the bend as he listened in. Perhaps today would be the lucky day. The day when he finally found good enough a reason to incarcerated Sinclair.

“B-But…”

 _Oh god_. Blaire had to suppress a groan when he recognized the second voice – bloody _Park_.

Jeremy was torn between being overjoyed that the two ran the risk of both being caught by him, and being irritated that only a day into his contract Park had managed to find the one other thorn in Jeremy’s nerves. Fucking brilliant. It could very nearly be considered a skill, one of the only skills Park seemed to have honed to perfection.

Biting back irritation, Blaire continued to listen in as he clung to the small hope that they’d give themselves away somehow. He didn’t nee much, just enough to justify the silencing of their families and keep Murkoff happy. The Warden did not need to be told, even if they occasionally noticed new patience in the asylum or asked after missing staff, a suitable lie was always prepared.

“The Warden already showed you around the basic facilities, yes?” Sinclair asked, and Jeremy could actually _hear_ the kind smile in his words. Again he bit back a groan. “I assure you, that you need only ask if you feel the need.”

“Ha, yeah you say that but…” Park sounded nervous – a tone that Blaire was much fonder of.

A moment of silence passed between the two and there must have been a nonverbal exchange because a second later Sinclair gave a small sigh and picked up the conversation.

“It can be…” He paused, searching for the least offensive word – fucking Boy Scout. “…daunting, at first but there are good people here to help you as well. Some more so than others.” 

He must not have been convinced, and rightfully so, because Sinclair chuckled sympathetically and Blaire heard something that sounded a bit like a pat on the back.

“You’ll find out who you can get along with quickly enough Mr. Park.”

“Waylon.” Park corrected Sinclair immediately and then stumbled over a hasty explanation. “Mr. Park just sounds so old, unfriendly – you know? Please, just call me Waylon.”

“I think I could manage that much.” Sinclair must have been smiling, not that he ever bloody well stopped. “In that case, call me Sebastian – it would be a nice change of pace. The last person here that called me Sebastian left some time ago.”

“Another worker?”

“Yes, his name is David. He was an orderly here for a while, a bit unruly and forthright, but overall a nice man.”

Blaire didn’t bother to fight back the smirk that crawled onto his face. Oh, if only the innocent dope knew what had actually happened to his ‘friend’ he would not be so quick to talk about him. Perhaps Jeremy would divulge that information one day, with the added details of just who was involved in the whole thing. 

That ought to drive a small rift between the two brothers.

“Well, David and my brother of course.” Sinclair added cheerfully. “You may see him around from time to time, he mostly works with the more dangerous patients as a guard but he’ll be wandering the halls as well – if you get lost just look out for Riley. He’ll help you.” 

Blaire found himself becoming gradually more irritated by the whole thing. The two were just as tedious as always but thus far they’d given him nothing to actually use. If all they were going to talk about was directions and old colleagues then Blaire was going to bore himself to death before he was able to startle them.

“So…” Waylon sounded uncomfortable again as he grappled for the right words to keep the conversation going. Perhaps he preferred Sinclair’s company over the nutjobs and doctors he was usually stuck with. “You work as a therapist here? Isn’t that a little bit…well…”

Jeremy’s mind supplied a few conclusions to that sentence, none were complimentary. There was a pause where Blaire imagined Sinclair taking the usual few seconds of silence to think of his answer and Jeremy knew exactly what would slip out of Sinclair’s mouth. 

“It can be a little disheartening at times.” Sebastian admitted quietly. “Nearly half a year now and I haven’t seen much in the way of progress, it seems as though almost all my patients only get worse. Oh! But I’m not about to give up just yet.” Sebastian’s voice brightened, full of misplaced hope and optimism.

“I’ve been working with Mr. Gluskin recently, I’m hoping that his case will be a successful one.” Fat chance. “And with Father Martin’s comfort the other patients seem to be gaining a little more moral – even the Warden does considerable good for them.”

“But doesn’t it, I don’t know…scare you?” Park asked clumsily.

“Yes.” The answer was simple, abrupt and no doubt spoken with a smile. 

Blaire was genuinely surprised by the answer, from where he lent against the hallway wall Jeremy listened for any sort of follow up. Sinclair might be oblivious and seemingly impossible to threaten, but if he openly admitted to weakness then Blaire would be able to exploit it. Perhaps release some of his pent up aggression.

Irritatingly it seemed as though Sebastian was content to keep his reasons to himself and the conversation was left to fall off the deep end. After a few seconds of stillness where Park was no doubt too uncomfortable to speak and Sinclair was content with silence – Blaire decided he might as well get his money’s worth and see how far he could make the two jump. 

He rounded the corner, quick and sharp in the way he’d perfected in the past. The rush of air and tapping of his shoes usually alerted his intended target just abruptly enough to get a flinch out of them and maybe even a yelp if they were weak enough.

Park did not disappoint. The gangly young man flinched almost as if it were scripted and whipped around to stare at Blaire like he’d just fired a gun. The look of dread and uncertain guilt was painted over his face – Park knew he’d done nothing wrong but still felt as though he was in trouble. Park was very much like a child, a tall, awkward man child.

Jeremy felt gratification beginning for build up in his chest but barely a second passed before that smug feeling of satisfaction was quickly trampled over.

“Ah, Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair’s smile hardly faltered as he looked at his employer. The only indication he’d been startled at all was how hard he was gripping the clipboard to his chest. It was a minor reaction, not nearly enough to sate Blaire. “Have you met our new tech worker, Waylon Park?”

Blaire wanted to snap at Sinclair that of course he knew Park. He knew everyone, it was his damn job to know them – assuming there was even the slightest chance he didn't was insulting. Of course perfect, golden boy Sinclair meant not harm. If he had been saying it as a subtle dig at Jeremy, well it might have actually pleased Jeremy to some level. But of course Sinclair was too benevolent for that.

Park was shaking, just slightly but enough to catch Blaire’s attention again. It looked like Park was caught between offering his hand to give a customary introduction and running away. This was actually the first time Blaire could remember having been fully in front of Park before. Of course he’d overseen the new workers arrival to the asylum and even overheard his clumsy introduction to the Warden – but Jeremy himself had not spoken to Park before.

He’d seen enough of the pathetic man from afar to know that Waylon Park would only irritate him.

Regardless of these prior judgments, Jeremy slid on his professional façade and managed an icy smile towards Park. He didn’t feel much like playing the role of a somewhat strict employer right now, nor did Jeremy feel the need to cement his role as the bogyman for all the workers. He’d let the rumors do that.

Once Waylon’s head was full of these rumours and cautionary tales about Blaire, then he would give the man the time of day. Until then he’d make himself scarce.

Thus Jeremy made a quick, formal excuse for his time and moved on pass the two. Park only seemed more alarmed when Blaire made such an abrupt exit and he probably felt small, overlooked and unimportant. Good. Waylon Park might as well get used to such feelings while working for Blaire.

It was only when Jeremy was beginning to walk out of earshot and had already used his sudden appearance card, that Sinclair said something that almost caused him to come to a grindding stop.

“The patients don’t scare me that much, but I do fear for them. Sometimes things just don’t seem quite right, like the workers forget that the patients are still just people.” 

That was not the first time Sinclair had uttered such dangerous words, nor was it the first time that Blaire had heard them coming from the therapist. But this was however, the very first time that Sinclair had said them so openly around Blaire while also being in the presence of a new and impressionable employee.

This was the first time that Jeremy Blaire really did wonder what such traitorous words could do. If people like Waylon Park, soft hearted, dim witted people like Park, started putting stock in such ideas – would something threatening to the security of the asylum be born?

“But they’re criminals.” Park reasoned meekly, his voice no firmer than if he’d been asking a question.

“Even the most heinous person may be salvaged.” Sebastian spoke the words with a robotic conviction, as if he’d been taught them as a child and now held onto the phrase as a mantra in his adult years.

“Even criminals, if they were to die, would probably leave someone else behind. Everyone has someone that cares for them, no matter how horrible they may be. So if only for the sake of those that care for them, it’s important to see what we can do the help them. And at the end of the day – they’re still just people like us.”

The drivel coming out of Sinclair’s mouth made Blaire’s skin crawl even as he continued to walk away, keeping himself under control so as not to turn around and strike the therapist.

‘ _Everyone has someone that cares for them_.’ Those words continued to spin around Blaire’s mind long after the two had dropped out of earshot.

It had to be a lie.  
Who would care for madmen like Gluskin or Manera? No one, no one at all.

Sinclair was just spilling idealistic nonsense as usual. But for some reason those words continued to grate on Blaire’s nerves. Some people just didn’t have anyone to care for them or anyone they cared about in return – Blaire was one of them.

People like Sinclair with his brother or Park with that loving family of his, could never fully grasp the concept of true loneliness. Blaire was not lonely, just alone – there was nothing wrong with that. It made him stronger, helped him see more clearly and most of all it had built his life to the successful point it was now at.

With Trager now officially on Blaire’s list of the recently deceased – even if his body remained the mind was gone so he might as well have been dead – that left no one else in the world to distract Blaire.

Sebastian Sinclair was wrong, there was no need for anyone important to Jeremy to exist.  
That thought caused Jeremy to pause as he reached the guarded entrance to the labs and when he ventured into the bowls of the facility he knew that he would not be visiting Trager today or any other day.  It was simply another distraction that kept Blaire from further success.

After all what was loneliness compared to success?

Nothing, nothing at all.

 

…  
…  
…

 

 

Again his senses were assaulted by rich smelling meals being prepared and the buzz of music not quite loud enough to make out any individual words. Every step he took towards the central entertainment and mingling area of the town brought with it a little more warmth. He guessed there’d be open heaters and maybe even fires littered around the chairs and tables laid out for guests. Jeremy decided that for a few minutes at least he could indulge in the warmth of those free heaters and comfy chairs – just for a few minutes.

The echo of Blair’s footsteps seemed eerily sharp and easily cut through the low thrum of activity he was heading towards. It was the methodical, piercing sound of his pace abruptly skidding to a stop that alarmed Blaire the most. He registered the sudden stop before Jeremy even fully processed why he’d been made to stop walking.

He was staring right at a dead man.

Every bone in Blaire’s body screamed that it was impossible, that it was wrong. So very, very _wrong_. And while his every instinct wanted to deny the information that his eyes were supplying him with, Blaire couldn’t even force himself to look away. For the first time since he’d been in the asylum running for his life, Jeremy was completely and utterly frozen.  It was the most exposed he’d ever felt, like a deer staring into the oncoming traffic of a truck.

Sitting among the various other customers, wearing a clumsy, good natured smile was Park.

Waylon. Fucking. Park. 

The man that Blaire had been certain had died at the hands of Walrider. The same man he was positive had been torn to shreds by the monster that had left him in such a wretched state, was now sitting a few meters away from him, perfectly healthy with people on his left and right. 

_What is success?_

Blaire’s mind struggled to process the information, the insult of what he was seeing struck him deeply. Waylon Park, the bastard he’d done everything to crush, the same queasy techie that had been chewed up and spat out by the horrors of the asylum, looked _happy_.

Waylon sat eating dinner with his family. His wife Lisa by his side, smiling a smug little smirk as she elbowed her husbands side playfully. Two young boys sat opposite their parents, recounting something of a grand scale judging by how they flailed their arms about in excitement. They sat comfortably among many others sharing similar experiences with their own loved ones.

_When compared to loneliness?_

Blaire became distinctly aware of the divide between where he stood, half obscured by the darkness that the dinning lights could not reach, and where Park sat smiling happily in the warmth of outdoor heaters and company. 

He looked wretched, Park looked content.  
Simple as that.

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing._


	7. Pride and Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad this is out but I’m not satisfied with the end of the chapter. I might re-write it later or go into more graphic detail in the next chapter.  
> Anywho – enjoy.

 

This was wrong, everything about this was backwards. Jeremy should have been the one happy and content somewhere with a large fireplace and copious amounts of alcohol at his disposal. He should have been happy and successful and Park should have been _dead_!

Rage and an almost crippling sense of being cheated filled Blaire to his breaking point. His nails bit into the palms of his hands and Jeremy could feel himself shaking purely out of anger.

Why was it Park? Why did it have to be Park that was happy at the end of all this?

Never mind that he was alive and had probably done his damndest to bring Murkoff down with that flimsy fucking camcorder of his – but he had to be _happy_.

Okay, okay…calm down.

Mentally Blaire soothed himself before things could get out of hand, the last thing he needed was some sort of rage-induced decision that ended up with him in handcuffs. No, Blaire had to be clever – god knows he could be clever when he tried.

In fact, after a few seconds of taking in calming gulps of air, Jeremy’s mind shifted from insult over to appreciation. This situation could be twisted to his advantage.

Yes, Waylon Park being alive was not exactly his ideal situation but Jeremy needed things to change in his favor and every piece of information could be helpful. Perhaps Park would be useful?

Gradually Blaire inched back around the corner, not willing to let Park too far out of his sight on the slim chance the male might vanish if Jeremy looked away for too long. Once he was safely out of sight and could still steal glances at the younger male from around the corner, Jeremy began to size up his options. 

The likelihood of being handed over to the police by Park was too great in Jeremy’s mind so simply making demands of Park would prove pointless. Of course Waylon had no idea of his condition or predicament with Murkoff, that could be used to his advantage.

Waylon had bent to threats before and if Blaire played his cards right Park would no doubt do his bidding to keep that family of his safe. So threats were still on the table and looked fairly appealing to Jeremy. 

One hitch was how to carry out such transactions. Doing them in a crowded public place like this wasn’t even worth considering really and with Lisa there – the feisty thing that she was – it would be difficult to obtain the upper hand. He needed Park alone and preferably in a situation where he felt exposed and vulnerable.

The aching in Jeremy’s bones reminded him that he didn’t come off as particularly assertive or intimidating in his current state. With that in mind Jeremy decided the best time to approach Waylon would be in the dead of night where the darkness could hide the majority of his injuries.

Just as Blaire was beginning to formulate a plan that looked feasible, a traitorous little voice spoke up in the back of his mind.

 _Why not just ask him for help_? It asked innocently, but of course it was still part of Blaire and rapidly followed up with. _He’s just gullible enough to agree._

Blaire dismissed the idea almost immediately. Park might be softhearted enough to actually fall for such pleas, especially if Blaire spilled everything about his time in captivity and the extent of his injuries, but there was just something so bone grindingly humiliating about the idea.

Perfect Waylon Park, pure enough to actually aid someone like Blaire. God the mere thought was enough to make his stomach churn. Golden boy Park… There was no way Jeremy was going to ask for help, there was nothing on this earth or hell that could push him to such extremes.

“There you are, Mr. Blaire.”

Except maybe that.

Every bone in Jeremy’s body seemed to lock up as an icy chill shot down his spine. He knew that voice and more importantly he was intimately acquainted with the tone it held. That slightly amused song voice that called to him in a low drawn out whisper from around the other side of the wall.

Blaire’s heart began to hammer away in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. Jeremy knew this feeling from the moments when he’d be required to break out into a dead sprint to avoid being caught in the asylum. He broke out in a cold sweat and Jeremy could hear his own terrified breath clumsily pushing out of his chest, almost as if he’d already been running for miles and couldn’t catch his breath again.

This was the most instant sensation of fear that Blaire had ever felt.  
Because he knew, he _knew_ what it meant.

From the other side of the corner Sinclair’s lips twitched up into a smirk. 

“I finally found you.” The words slipped out in a low murmur, almost like how someone might speak to a lover.

“You were so difficult Mr. Blaire, so _very_ difficult. But I couldn’t very well let my favorite patient run around all on his own – what if you got hurt?” The last question broke off into a low growl, holding more promise than concern.

Blaire was shaking, a different sort of tremble to the quivers of rage he’d experienced a few minutes prior, when he discovered Park had continued to breath. This was unadulterated terror; all the pride in the world didn’t keep Blaire from admitting that to himself.

How had he been found? How had the bastard caught up with him so quickly, had Blaire really wasted so much time? Well maybe he had taken his time a bit more than he should have but Sinclair shouldn’t have been able to track him down this easily. It should have been impossible.

But between Park being alive and Sinclair locating him with such ease – the impossible seemed to be becoming painfully common. 

“Now, Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair no longer called him Jeremy or just Blaire – it was back to the old routine of ‘MR’. That made Jeremy’s chest clench painfully. The loss of familiarity between his stalker and himself meant that Sinclair was probably okay with shedding some of Jeremy’s blood again.

“You’ve put me in a delicate situation.” Sinclair continued calmly, keeping up the pretense of a casual conversation. “I should take you home right _now_.”

Jeremy tensed as the words were spoken in a hushed snarl, full of all the anger that Sinclair glossed over. It promised Blaire that he’d not be getting something as gentle as a simple choking this time around. However under all of the fear, Jeremy still felt the need to dispute the use of the word ‘home’. But at this point he didn’t have anything better to refer to as such anyway.

“But for old time’s sake I think we’ll have a little activity first. A…team building exercise if you will.” Blaire tensed all over when he say Sinclair’s profile shift ever so slightly around the corner of the building, just so Jeremy could see the expression of barley-contained glee on his face. The same sort of look that Jeremy had become so familiar with in the asylum.

He was going to die.   
Sinclair was really going to kill him.

“You have two minutes.” Sinclair told him, the smirk on his face twisting to an almost painful looking width.

“Oh, and Mr. Blaire…if I catch you around populated areas I’m going to be mighty disappointed. Not that you’d risk it, not with Murkoff breathing down your neck…hmpf – what are you still doing standing there? You have one minute and thirty seconds left. _Run_.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, okay well three times. Same difference. 

Jeremy practically threw himself off the wall and took off in the opposite direction. Every single bone in his body broke out into a series of agonized shrieks. The foot he’d been so careful not to put weight on almost buckled under him after only a few steps and the stitches that had previously been so carefully tended to by Sinclair threatened to rip open with every hasty step he took.

The only real comfort in Jeremy’s mind was that Sinclair would actually give him that minute and a half, Jeremy knew this man’s games inside and out and Sinclair never cheated. Out of his mind and the man still somehow held onto the principles that prevented him from going back on his word – bloody incredible. 

However slow Jeremy’s shambling run might be, his mind had no such grievances. Already Jeremy was finding possible solutions to this situation, none came easily but they were all a better alternative to being captured by a furious Sinclair. 

Blaire had already decided what he’d do, he was going to loop back around the backstreets and find Park. His plans of threatening Waylon went out the window and were replaced with very simple instructions – get help.  
Even if it was begging, even if it was weak – at least he’d survive and recently Jeremy had discovered that survival might truly be more precious than his pride.

He knew Waylon would not turn him down, at least not immediately. Waylon’s head was as soft as his heart and Jeremy doubted the man would be cold enough to hand him over to Sinclair, Waylon didn’t strike him as the type of person that would willingly send a man to his death. Sending him to prison was still on the table but at that moment it was a sunny substitute.

Unless…the asylum had changed Waylon.

Jeremy did his best not to think of that idea as he ran, ever conscious of his slowly dwindling time. Would Sinclair kill him right there? It was a possibility, the man didn’t resemble the semi-sane attendant he’d been to Blaire those last few days and now looked exactly how Jeremy remembered him in his nightmares.

If Sinclair killed him, Jeremy was positive it would eventually shatter the man internally and while that wasn’t a bad consolation prize it still wasn’t worth Jeremy’s life.

“Mr. Blaire! That’s your time up.” The call echoed down the narrow pathway that Jeremy had decided would most likely lead back around the buildings to the place he’d seen Park. The sound seemed to bounce off the wall hauntingly and chase after Jeremy’s retreating form as he squeezed through the gap between the towering buildings.

It signified the end of his head start; Sinclair would be hunting him now.

The heavy scent of mold and moist stones surrounded Blaire as he stumbled through the backstreets, trying to be quiet now as he inched along the walls. The mad dash he’d made at the start served its purpose to put some distance between them but now Blaire had to be quiet, to try and hide while still continuing to move further away from the threat.

The small sprint had sucked the breath from his lungs and twisted his previously manageable limp into a whole different kind of pain. His leg ached and it was only because he put most of his weight onto the wall supporting his body that Jeremy did not collapse immediately. 

Despite all of this he could not pause to pity himself or rest. Sinclair was deadly quiet when he wanted to be and just as agile, Blaire was listening for any sign that Sebastian had followed him into the backstreets while also trying to keep up a steady pace.

But there was only his footsteps echoing back to him. He couldn’t hear Sinclair at all, it was almost like the man was never there to begin with and that was the most encouraging thought Jeremy had all night.

 Even so he dared not hope that Sinclair could have lost him so easily. He’d followed him across two whole towns for fuck’s sake! Sinclair would find him; it was not a question of _if_ but rather _when_. As such Jeremy stuck to his plan, he had to find Park and he had to do it quickly.

Blaire almost stopped walking when another thought hit him, one that he hadn’t considered in all of this.

Would Sinclair kill Park?

The idea rattled around in Jeremy’s head as he limped deeper into the darkness of the backstreets. But no matter how long he ran the question through his head, Jeremy could not for the life of him decipher how it made him feel.

On the one hand if Sinclair killed Waylon that would once again leave him at the mad man’s mercy, but on the other hand if Sinclair killed Waylon…then he’d be dead and as an added bonus Sinclair would have murdered someone he once knew – it’d probably destroy him if he ever found his sanity again.

There were ups and downs to both argument but ultimately Jeremy was banking on Sinclair recognizing Park even the tiniest bit and not killing the man. Hell maybe just the fact Waylon was an innocent bystander would be enough to spare him from Sinclair’s scissors.

So that’s how Jeremy found himself thinking something that seemed so insanely out of character for him.

_Please don’t kill Park._

Well you’d never hear Jeremy Blaire belittling the importance of context.

That same mantra played through his mind a few times as he made his way into another narrow street. Jeremy felt a little bit lost but continued walking in the vague direction he thought Park was in, unable to stop or turn back even if he was going the wrong way.

Then a cold chill ran up his spine. Frantically Blaire jerked his head up, looking around anxiously for any sign of Sinclair as if he had some sort of sixth sense that had alerted him to the male’s presence. But Sinclair was nowhere in sight and there wasn’t any sound that indicated the man was nearby either.

For a few more seconds Jeremy remained stationary, waiting for any sign of the other male. Eventually he decided that the nerves were just getting to him. However as he took his first steps back towards the path he’d chosen, Jeremy actually _felt_ something looming up over him. Too tall to be Sinclair, far too bulky as well judging from the shadow it cast over Blaire’s shoulders.

Again there was a spike of fear in Blaire’s chest but it was unfamiliar. The hammering of his head did not match the mind numbing terror he’d felt when Sinclair stalked him, however it was not entirely a stranger to Blaire. He knew this brand of fear even if only briefly having felt it before. It was the knowledge that he was so very outclassed.

Despite the immobilizing fear, Jeremy forced himself to look back. Twitching his head slightly to the side so he could peer out of the corner of his eye at the _thing_ behind him.

 _Walrider_.

The fear that had previously locked up joints now propelled Blaire forward in a second mad dash. Walrider was fast, probably faster than any human alive but still Jeremy ran because really…what other option was there?

The distant memory of the sounds his body had made when he first encountered the Walrider back at the asylum echoed in the hollows of his mind hauntingly as Jeremy ran. His body seemed to remember the feeling more than the sound, supplying the phantom sensation of his flesh being parted rapidly under the Walrider’s wraithlike fingers as if it was nothing more than silk. 

Bones cracking under the pressure, blood spilling free to hit the floor with a sickening series of splats – all of it pounded against Jeremy’s mind, forcing his protesting body to keep going long after it should have collapsed in on itself.

Another corner taken, another frantic look for a way out. The dirty walls felt tighter with every corner Jeremy rounded. Tighter and further stretched out ahead of him, it felt like everything was getting darker and more difficult to navigate. It was fear tunneling his vision and clouding his better judgment and even though Jeremy knew this – he was in no position to rectify the problem. 

Instead the only coherent thoughts in his mind were questions. How had the Walrider ended up here? How was his luck this wretched? Was everything in the world just out to get him?

Jeremy’s balance was torn away from him as his feet slipped and skidded across the mold-covered ground on a corner he’d taken too hastily. The abrupt loss of his feet out from under him and the consequential tumble hardly registered, they were mere embarrassments when compared to the price falling would bring him.

Even as the disgustingly filthy ground came up to meet Blaire and got his already pathetically crabby clothes dirty, the only outstanding thought in his mind was the knowledge of his impending doom and the inescapable pain that it would entail. He’d accepted this fate once, he remembered the exact moment in the asylum when he’d realized he was meant to die. It had been a miracle he had survived.

In fact, Blaire’s survival seemed so impossible and insulting to everything good with the world that it may have been the opposite of a miracle. It was a massive ‘fuck you’ to reason and karma. However, Jeremy would fiercely debate that he’d been punished thoroughly for his wrong doings.

The world may disagree with him and demand further punishment for every little sin he’d committed time and time again, but as Jeremy struggled to even get to his knees on a filthy backstreet with a god itself bearing down on him, he couldn’t help but think that there was no sin worthy of this hell. It was a very real hell, the weakness the pitiful uselessness of his own body – everything rendered Jeremy unable to even fight for himself. It was humiliation and fear play at its finest.

Regardless of his impossible situation, Jeremy still tried. Still dug his elbows into the ground and forced himself to move forward through the grime and the muck of the street. He dragged himself to the furthest end of the alleyway he’d so wrongfully turned into and once his back hit the solid brick wall blocking him off from any possible freedom – Jeremy Blaire simply turned around and allowed his beaten body to sink down onto the ground. 

And as the shadowy mass began to slip around the corner, losing its form only to rebuilding itself with every motion it took, Jeremy could only stare at it with a detached sense of loathing. As the Walrdier crept in closer to his exposed, vulnerable form to finish the job it had failed in doing the first time around, Jeremy could only watch it and think simple, pointless thoughts.

_He was no quitter._

The Walrider closed the distance between them, raising its claw like appendage high into the air, and even though it was futile Jeremy still raised his arm up to shield his head like it might somehow protect him. He’d heard men scream and sob at the mere sight of the Walrider, watched them throw away faith and pride in a single pathetic attempt to cling to some shred of hope that they’d survive. Distantly Jeremy even remembered his own frantic screams when the Walrider began to tear at his body. This time he didn’t utter a single word, his vocal cords locked up in fear and his mind to severely separated from the rest of him to even register the need to shriek.

Instead he simply tried to feebly protect his head and let a single dim thought run through his mind.

_I’m sorr--_

“Jeremy! Wait Miles, _stop_!” The shout came from somewhere behind the massive bulk of a form that was Walrider and while Blaire was sure he recognized the voice the words did not seem to match his image of that person. 

Then there was blood. Warm, sticky and overwhelming.

Jeremy felt it splash up against his face, no doubt getting matted in his uncombed hair and staining his clothes. It felt like it was everywhere, clinging to every inch of him and suffocating him.

But it was not his.

There was no additional pain, no sense or knowledge that he’d been harmed. The distant memory of his skin being shredded under the Walrider’s hands rung promisingly in his mind, but at no point did the dreadful sensation make a reappearance. He was not harmed, at least no further than he already had been.

Rightfully confused, Jeremy gradually forced his eyes to peek open. At first all he could see was red and black. The thick dark beads of blood were rolling down his arm and hand, becoming caught as they slid through the gaps in his fingers leaving behind a sticky red memory of their journey. The black filled in the rest of his world, beyond the outline of his arm that remained lifted in defence, there was a second mass of flesh between him and the light.

Jeremy was now lying slumped in the shadow of Sinclair rather than Walrider.

Stunned into silence Blaire could only stare at the back of Sinclair’s head and note the ridged way in which he stood. Sebastian had adopted a protective stance that he had probably picked up from his brother at some point, arms raised much like Blaire’s had been to meet the brunt of the monster’s attack. His lanky form actually seemed more solid when he held it in such a manner but Blaire could see the slight tremble in his legs from where the effort of maintaining this position was beginning to wear on him.

Then Blaire also saw the blood that began to drip onto the ground beneath Sinclair and pool at his feet.  
Sebastian’s blood.

From where he was sitting Jeremy could see the Walrider’s claws were buried deep into Sebastian’s forearms and the blood just kept on spilling up and over. Each thick droplet of blood made a sickeningly familiar splat as it fell to the ground to join the rest. Blood was thicker than Jeremy had originally thought – the asylum and its residents did teach him the most horrendously pointless things.

“Miles…” Sebastian’s voice was strained, obviously struggling with both pain and the effort of remaining firm. It held a low note to it that Jeremy hadn’t heard before, at least not in his memory – he’d never heard Sebastian sound so serious about anything in all his life. It was strange to heard such gravel in a usually so lighthearted voice.

Besides the cheerful singing tone he adopted when stalking Blaire and the feral growl that such a lyrical voice could drop into when he caught Blaire – Jeremy couldn’t think of any other voice better suited to Sinclair. This was desperation, maybe even fear. The Walrider scared Sinclair, as it rightfully should, but there was a different sort of fear in the way Sinclair spoke.

He did not fear the Walrider because of the very real possibility it would kill him, but instead Sinclair’s voice trembled because he feared losing something.

Blaire knew the tone, knew the look – he’d seen it on Waylon’s face countless times. The fear that he’d lose his family was what had prompted it in the past, but Sinclair had no family left to lose as far as Blaire knew. He had nothing left to lose besides his prisoner. 

So that left Blaire wondering why he seemed so terrified. Logic told him that Sinclair couldn’t be scared that Jeremy would die. Logic told him as much, but instinct was telling a very different story.  
It said Sinclair was afraid to lose him – it spoke embarrassing, impossible ideas.

“ _Why_?” Jeremy tensed when the Walrider responded. It actually _spoke_.

The voice caused an involuntary shudder to shoot down Blaire’s spine. It was vaguely reminiscent of a human tone but there was something else in there, something that didn’t sound quite human – it hardly even sounded like an animal. More like a computer glitch of some kind and it was distorting the Walrider’s words.

“I _need_ him.” Sinclair stressed the word, imploring the monster to see reason and understand the importance of Jeremy’s continued life. “Riley needs him.” 

There was a shift. A subtle change in behavior from the Walrider and abruptly the claws were jerked free of Sinclair’s arms. A splash of blood followed their exit and Sinclair released a low groan of agony, but remained firmly on his feet.

With the claws removed Sinclair’s body shifted positions, becoming more guarding than they’d previously been. Sinclair remained securely in front of Jeremy, keeping him out of the Walrider’s murderous path. But even though he held his hands clenched into fists to keep up the sturdy appearance – Jeremy could see how the blood made small rivers down his wrists and pooled in the crevices of his closed fingers. It looked painful. 

Sinclair was not a large man but right then it didn’t seem to matter – he looked like the strongest force on earth simply because he kept on standing.

“ _Riley…”_ The Walrider’s distorted voice murmured the name, rolling it around its tongue slowly. It was questioning Sinclair and it was only then that the true bizarre nature of his situation hit Blaire.

Here was Walrider, the strongest force on earth as far as Murkoff was concerned, holding a conversation with some nobody patient. And even more inexplicable was the fact Sinclair was responding to the creature like it was an acquaintance.

Abruptly the Walrider’s gaze was on Jeremy, who tensed in alarm. The look in those black gaping holes was more telling than if it had been gifted with human eyes. It was glaring at him, it wanted to tear him apart and Jeremy feared it would tear through Sinclair to do it.

“Don’t.” Sinclair’s voice softened but held more threat than it did a plea. “Miles, just _don’t_.”

“ _Waylon_!” The Walrider twisted up into the air, looming over Sinclair as the techie’s name tore from its throat. “ _Too close, too close_!” It insisted feverishly, the screeching of the metallic notes hurt Jeremy’s ears, but Sinclair did not flinch. He regarded the creature like a child throwing a tantrum instead of the unimaginable threat it was. 

“I know.” Sinclair’s tone was stiff but there was a note of comfort now, like he was trying to sooth the monstrous entity. “I will take him away, far away from Waylon. I promise.”

Almost like a cat the Walrider proceeded to hiss and spit at Sinclair furiously. Its lanky, fluid form flicking back and forth in small agitated jerks – it was pacing. Its head snapped back and forth between Sinclair and Jeremy, a new growl occasionally being set loose when it turned its black gaze on Jeremy – but it did not lash out.

Finally it rushed towards Sinclair, stopping barely a centimetre from the former therapists face, it was trying to scare him, attempting to intimidate Sinclair into relinquishing Blaire. It did not work.

Sinclair was visibly tense but he did not step aside and instead met Walrider’s glare with his own. The burned man and shadowy creature remained locked like that for a few more tense seconds that dragged on for what seemed like two life times worth of terror for Blaire, and then, finally, it was over.

Walrider eased back down into a shape that looked almost human and no longer towered over Sinclair though it remained slightly larger than him even in this base form.

“ _You will take away_.” It snarled, leaving out words here and there as it spoke. _“Keep away, keep Waylon safe. Keep his knifes away…from Waylon. Wont hurt him again, stab him again – keep away.”_

Sinclair let out a small sigh that bordered on relief and stepped towards the Walrider, an action that Jeremy couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and held his hand out in the way one might approach a friend. The Walrider did bristle and move back like a suspicious cat but Sinclair’s open body language and ready smile gradually calmed the creature.

“ _Waylon safe…”_ It repeated less aggressively, its voice sounding almost miserable, and then after a long pause the Walrider added on apprehensively. “ _Riley…safe? Keep safe?”_

“Always.” The word was spoken like a vow and Jeremy could just make out Sinclair’s earnest smile. An expression he hadn’t seen in what felt like years. He was smiling like how he would smile before the Morphogenic Engine. Jeremy almost missed seeing it. It was almost nostalgic in the way it brought back memories of exasperation and hair pulling frustration – better days.

Then the Walrider did something incredible. It stopped being Walrider.

As quickly as the creature had appeared to stalk Jeremy it was gone and left in its place was a man. A man that was vaguely familiar to Blaire. The only memory of the beast was the slight shadowy mist that clung to the man’s flesh, something easily missed in the darkness of night, and the blackness of his eyes. It could have been a trick of the light but from where Jeremy sat it seemed the man no longer had any pupils, only two large black voids that were reminiscent of the Walrider’s glare.

But the man was distinctly human, the man was Miles Upshur.

Memories of the journalist’s name came flooding back to Jeremy. The potential threat, the nosing around, the nuisance that had been Miles Upshur. Abruptly Jeremy’s mind stitched together a backstory that made sense, Park’s email had actually gotten through, gotten to Upshur and then the man had at some point made it to the asylum and one way or another…this was the outcome. 

How he had become the Walrider’s host was a mystery that Jeremy wasn’t willing to ask about right now but it did give him an answer as to why and how Park was still alive. 

Miles had spared Park, it had saved Park from _him_.

And now it had told Sinclair that ever so crucial little tidbit of information.  
Jeremy was all sorts of dead and now he wondered if it would have been a mercy to have been killed by the Walrider.

Sinclair was exchanging some meaningless words with Upshur, something about coffee and books, a hospital and some sort of gathering. Jeremy’s mind had been too busy sorting through the new information that he missed a majority of the conversation.

“Visit again.” Sinclair was saying kindly. “It’ll mean a lot to him one day.”

“ _When awake_?” It still spoke with that double voice, but gradually even that began to turn human again.

There was a pause and Sinclair seemed sad for a moment before picking up the usual cheerful attitude. “Yes. When he is awake. Don’t worry Miles.”

“Ha…” A very human chuckle came from Walrider – or rather it came from Upshur. The effort to become something that resembled a living, breathing human must have been difficult but with every passing second that’s just what Upshur did. “I’m not so sure he’ll be quite as understanding as you are Sebastian.”

No longer did he sound like a monster, but Jeremy could still just hear the slight echo of the Walrider’s voice in Upshur’s. It was subtle but still definitely there.

Then Miles was looking at him and the glare he gave Jeremy was no less hostile than the Walrider’s. Sinclair caught this glance and sighed, allowing fatigue to slip into his tone.

“Miles…”

“We can talk about the implications of this later.” The journalist cut Sinclair off sharply. “For tonight at least you take him. Get him out of this town – Waylon doesn’t need to know.”

“Thank you.” Sinclair sounded equal parts tired and relieved.

“I’m trusting you with this Sin.” Miles told him firmly. “If you’re not up to it.”

“I am.” Sinclair’s determination came out in the two simple words. “I… _we_ need him.”

It finally registered in Blaire’s mind what they were really discussing. Upshur was questioning Sinclair’s sanity – questioning his ability to keep Jeremy alive. If Sinclair had wanted to kill Blaire he would get no resistance from Upshur or the Walrider, at least not because of Jeremy. But Upshur was probably worried about Sinclair hurting _himself_ in the process.

How nauseatingly sentimental.

Jeremy didn’t have the time to really go into how much that sort of behavior disgusted him, because suddenly Sinclair’s eyes were on him. As those blue hues locked onto his battered, exhausted form all the kindness he’d been addressing Miles with was gone. He looked at Jeremy like something filthy, something that had been dragged in by a feral cat. Unsightly and unwanted.

As he stepped towards Jeremy, the former supervisor’s arms again shot up to defend himself, half expecting Sinclair to strike him.

“Sin.” Upshur’s anxious voice broke in before any such strike could come, successfully distracting Sinclair. “Your arms…”

Jeremy watched past the gap between his arms as Sinclair looked down at his own arms to observe what had Upshur so concerned. The blood was still trickling out, slower than before but still noticeable.

 “What did you plan to do?” Upshur demanded like Sinclair was the dumbest person on planet earth, and Blaire reveled in hearing that tone directed at Sinclair coming some someone else’s mouth for once. “Carry him home over your shoulder?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of dragging.” Sinclair replied with a cold glare still focused on Jeremy. “Through the dirt.” 

“Hate to disappoint you kid, but with those arms of yours, you won’t get far even if he can barely stand.”

“He could stand enough to get to this town.” Sinclair countered angrily. “If he can do that in this condition what do you think he could manage with both his legs working?”

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a compromise.” Upshur’s voice was growing distant as Sinclair closed the distance between them. His words about lending his car became muffled and eventually illegible to Blaire as Sinclair’s hand came up to rest gently on the side of his head.

The only sound that reached Jeremy after that was the sound of Sinclair’s hushed voice whispering to him.

“Imagine what you could do with both legs.” He repeated in a low snarl. “Imagine what you could do with _none_.”

Then the hand that had previously been tender in the way it cupped the side of Blaire’s head became harsh. Fingers curling to claw at the side of his face and bunch up a fist full of Jeremy’s hair. Then everything went flying and Blaire barely processed the situation before Sinclair had cracked his head once against the wall he’d been leaning up against.

Jeremy heard Upshur shouting something, probably protesting this abuse but that was abruptly drowned out by the ringing that followed the second sickening snap of his head against the wall.

By the third there was an audible crack, accompanied by the nauseating taste of blood in the back of his throat and finally blackness.

 

…  
…  
…

 

“Mr. Blaire.” Sinclair turned to look at him with a ready smile, innocent and welcoming. The sight of it caused Blaire to smirk inwardly. “I was just about to go and see the Warden.” He continued like an eager school boy, approaching Jeremy a little too casually.

“I think that Mr. Gluskin might be able to be removed from intensive care soon. Things are really looking up for him, he’s finally willing to talk after all these weeks and I--” Sinclair stopped, seeming to finally sense that something was amiss. Perhaps it was Blaire’s silence or the smug way he was regarding Sinclair.

“Mr. Blaire?” Sinclair cocked his head to the side, a small frown forming on his usually cheerful mug. “Is everything alright sir?”

Alright? Things were better than just _alright_. 

Blaire had finally done it, he’d finally gotten enough incriminating evidence on Sinclair to warrant Murkoff deciding he was more use to them as a patient than a worker. Jeremy couldn’t begin to describe the happy somersaults his stomach was doing, the immeasurable joy he felt. 

But the poor therapist hadn’t realized it yet, and Blaire had been waiting for this day too long to simply let it slide by. He wanted to draw this out, wanted to milk it for everything it was worth.

“I’m afraid not.” Jeremy replied, putting on a honey sweet performance. Wearing an expression of concern Jeremy continued, knowing that Sinclair was just another sucker. “It seems that Gluskin is having a relapse, considering you’re the last therapist assigned to him – we thought it best to see if you could help work him out of it.”

That expression. Sebastian’s face turned into one of genuine fear, he was terrified for the crazy, misogynistic fucker – Blaire tried not to let that get under his skin. Today was too good a day to let it be ruined by Sinclair’s messed up sense of morality.

“Yes, yes please.” Sebastian spoke hurriedly, stepping towards Blaire as if he felt the need to run to help. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Blaire could see the confusion on Sinclair’s face. No doubt he was second guessing himself, asking himself where he went wrong with treating Gluskin or if he’d somehow made things worse. Well no matter – once Sinclair was a fully integrated patient the program would wipe away all those thoughts, memories and moralities.

The corruption of something innocent, and Jeremy was going to witness it in its entirety.  
Think of it as a pet project and this was the pay off.

All Riley’s hard work was for nothing in the end and Jeremy would also enjoy seeing the day that the older Sinclair boy realized this. He imagined the guard would probably try to assault him before being dragged off to join his brother in a cell – it would be an event worth waiting for. 

Blaire lead Sinclair like a lamb to the slaughter, he could hear the anxious, hurried pace of the younger male behind him while Jeremy took his time in long, carefree strides.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the underground labs, Blaire thought about how Sinclair’s abrupt disappearance would effect Park. The two had been able to converse in their short time together, only a week, hardly enough to become friends of any kind. But Sinclair was the only person that gave Park the time of day.

With Sebastian gone Park would be more isolated and anxious – a wonderful side effect of todays activities.

When they reached the doors that lead to the deepest pit of the underground labs, Jeremy paused outside of them knowing that beyond those doors was a set of hands ready to grab Sinclair the moment they entered. 

Jeremy looked back at the worried face of Sebastian Sinclair and wondered what his final moments of sanity and freedom should be filled with. Perhaps he should gloat, crow that he’d tricked Sinclair and Gluskin was never supposed to ‘get better’. While those thoughts were certainly appealing, finally he decided to do something that may have been crueler.

He smiled.

Sinclair looked surprised to see the smile, such a genuinely happy one at that. He was sure that he’d never seen such a look on Blaire’s face before and despite himself, Sinclair couldn’t help but smile back. 

Blaire’s expression said ‘everything is going to be okay’ like some sort of comfort, but the moment the doors opened and too many pairs of hands to count were suddenly on him everything else in the world said nothing would be okay ever again.

The first punch to the gut crippled him and Sinclair sank down to his knees, coughing and gagging on the air he was trying to pull into his winded body. His eyes watered and the world swam in front of him as the second blow landed on the back of his head. Everything turned fuzzy, as Sinclair’s body turned limp and he would have fallen to the floor had two pairs of hands not held him up on his knees.

The voices and sound of boots thudding against the ground all became white noise in the background that Sebastian couldn’t understand. But even as the world turned to static around him and everything began to fade in and out of sight – Sinclair looked up.

Among the hazy visions of computers, guards and what Sinclair could only assume was some sort of testing chamber – Jeremy Blaire stood. 

He was still smiling as he peered down at Sebastian’s crumpled form but no longer was the smile made of fabricated comfort. It was overflowing with mirth, and Sebastian realized that _this_ was the first time he’d ever really seen Blaire smile. This spiteful, apathetic smirk was the first real smile his supervisor had ever graced him with. 

Sinclair would remember that expression, most likely for the rest of his life and even as the world turned black and the first day of torture was ushered in – Sinclair kept that expression in the forefront of his mind.

Not out of resentment or because he wished for revenge, the reason Sebastian had clung onto that face was out of a twisted sense of hope. He was confused; Sebastian couldn’t understand how Jeremy had been able to sneer at him in such earnest on that day.

He hoped one day to understand and maybe one day he’d be able to find some shred of good behind the man who tossed him to the sharks and grinned while doing it.

Sebastian just wanted to believe that Blaire was wrong.  
That somewhere in everyone, even Jeremy, there was some little light – some sort of good. 

So Sebastian held onto that expression. To prove to himself that even in the face of such unadulterated cruelty he could remain a good, kind person and maybe even find someone like that in Jeremy as well. 

Somewhere along the way – Sebastian lost that fight.  
He gave up.

 

 

…  
…  
…

 

 

Jeremy was getting Déjà-bloody-vu.

He awoke to the blisteringly familiar feeling of his arms being bound up tight by rope. The coarse material chafing furiously at already agitated flesh as it rubbed his wrists raw. There was a bed under him, no doubt the same bed he’d woken up on the first time this happened. 

Jeremy had no difficulty collecting his thoughts and memories, despite the bashing his head had undergone. He remembered perfectly his near death experience with Walrider, the ensuing rescue and conversation – all of it remained vividly in his mind and god did Blaire wish Sinclair had beaten the memories out of him.

The conflicting information was enough to make his head hurt – or at least add to the physical aching of his skull.

Fact one – Sinclair hated him.

Well there had never been any doubt on that front and when he thought back to when Sinclair had first found him and his intentions of playing their little cat and mouse game again, Jeremy saw no reason to question that fact.

Fact two – Park is alive.

Something else he had little trouble coming to grips with after having calmed down enough to get over the momentary fury that came with that fact. Jeremy was relieved to some extent, figuring maybe he could use that information to his advantage but also terrified by the implications of Park’s continued living. It meant that Murkoff  had probably been exposed, and that Blaire’s life was effectively down the drain.  
Not that it was doing any better before this fact anyway.

Fact three – Miles Upshur is Walrider.

In all honesty Blaire wasn’t sure what to make of that one. No immediate plans or difficulties came to mind with this information. In all honesty it didn’t effect Blaire much one way or the other, provided the Walrider didn’t decide one day it would just stick its hand down Jeremy’s throat and rip out his spine.  
Which was a very real possibility.

Final fact – Sinclair protected him.

He was coming up blank…

Jeremy’s brain ached terribly with this final fact. He wasn’t foolish or insane enough to believe that Sinclair saved him out of the kindness of his heart. Sinclair had always said he needed Blaire’s money, needed things from him but even so it did not seem like enough to risk being torn to shreds by Walrider.

But that could have very well be the difference between he and Sinclair. The idiot would probably have protected almost anyone from Walrider even if the gain was next to nothing – because Sinclair was weak. Compassion was a weakness and no matter how many times Sinclair would lay hands on Blaire and beat him black and blue – he was never going to be anything but weak. Because without insanity to drive his hands, he was incapable of cruelty – at least in the sense that he could not abandon his sympathetic nature.

While Jeremy tried to piece together the reasons behind Sinclair’s act of idiocy, a small memory returned to him. Sinclair had spoken of his brother with Walrider – as if the older Sinclair boy was alive. But…Jeremy was positive the other had died – then again between Sinclair and Park it seemed a lot of people he thought dead were making reappearances.

Just. Bloody. Outstanding.

“You’re awake.” Jeremy barely flinched and Sinclair’s voice, because really who else could it have been? Instead of panicking, Jeremy forced his eyes open, trying to ignore the splitting headache and dryness of his eyes.

At first the light was blinding, Sinclair had decided tonight was a good time to actually turn on the light. Usually he kept it dark but today the whole room was lit up, only giving Blaire’s headache more room to complain.

By Jeremy’s bedside Sinclair was sitting on a rustic looking chair. He sat forward, elbows rested on his knees with his forehead pressed against the backs of his hands. He looked tired – tired and angry beyond measure.

“What did you think you were going to achieve?” Sinclair asked flatly. Not allowing any emotion to slip into his words though to Blaire they still sounded on the verge of anger.

“I told you from the start that I would provide everything you needed. Food, medical supplies, a roof over your head and clothes on your body. I supplied you with everything you could possibly need to recover and kept you safe from Murkoff. So what were you thinking when you ran away?”

Jeremy didn’t immediately reply, both at a loss for the words to say and too exhausted to force his sore throat to spit out the venomous reply he would have liked to come up with.

“Well?” Sinclair snapped, his level tone breaking to his frustration. “What the hell was going through your head Blaire?”

The ‘Mr.’ had been lost again, he was back to being Blaire – that was good. Sinclair wasn’t going to kill him in a fit of insanity if he was speaking like his current self rather than the asylum version of himself.

“I know you’re no idiot. You’re clever, manipulative and resourceful – there is no way that you thought running from me was the best course of action. Now because of you I have to keep Miles sated and you locked up even more tightly than before, I have to take away every privilege I gave you before. And then to add to the mess you made, you almost got yourself killed.” Sinclair spat the words angrily and Jeremy watched as the former patient made vague, violent gestures with his arms as if he was desperately trying to understand Jeremy’s behaviour.

“Is that what you want?” Sinclair demanded, tone dropping into a dangerous growl. “You want to die, is that it?”

Abruptly the seat Sinclair had been resting on was thrown through the air with a horrendous crash, breaking either itself or the wooden structure as it collided with the wall. Jeremy instinctively moved to cover his ears but was only granted a painful reminder of his current bound state.

Sinclair’s usually so fragile looking body heaved with the force of his own furious pants, it was like he had been under a great deal of pressure just waiting to explode, he’d probably been like that the whole time he waited for Blaire to wake up.

His violent outbursts were new territory to Jeremy. Even when Sinclair looked ready to strangle him, ready to kill Jeremy finally he rarely lost composer this whole heartedly. He didn’t shout, he didn’t break things – this was new and Blaire was not equipped with anything to combat it. 

It was the trembling in Sinclair’s clenched fists that first caught Blaire’s eye. He wasn’t wearing his white hoodie anymore, instead he was in a simple T-shirt and his arms were visible. They looked like a near match for Blaire’s arms – wrapped in blood soaked bandages.

 The memory of Walrider’s claws biting into Sinclair’s flesh came back to Jeremy but he felt nothing. No amusement, no concern – a simple empty void where emotion should have been. Sinclair had been hurt guarding him and Jeremy did not feel the need to laugh and mock – something was very wrong with him.

“Well?” Sinclair barked at him furiously, Jeremy hadn’t realised the mad man actually wanted a real response. 

“If you wanted to die there are easier ways to go about it!” Sinclair continued relentlessly, pacing and throwing his arms out in frustration as every new word ripped from his chest in a snarl. “When are you going to realize that the only way you’ll ever get away from me is if you stop breathing? You spoiled, rotten, selfish little--!”

“Shut up!” Jeremy snarled the words before he could think better of it. “Who would choose to stay with you, huh? So I can stay locked up on this shitty little bed for the rest of my life? No – fucking – thanks!”

Not for the first time Jeremy found himself cursing his temper and wicked tongue. The look Sinclair was giving him was the most obscene blend of furious and unreasonable. The silence that followed Blaire’s outburst was so thick he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone could stick a knife in it. 

Jeremy glared at Sinclair, refusing to be the one to drop their little staring competition first, but his nerves were beginning to get antsy.

He’d seen so many different sides of Sinclair. He’d met the kind, naïve boy and watched him become a man stripped of hope and reason, then finally he’d seen Sinclair turn into a madman. The person in front of him now hardly resembled the boy he’d first met.

He only looked remotely like that innocent kid when he interacted with those that weren’t Blaire. The smile he’d shown Walrider and Upshur was almost like a punch in the gut. It was eerily familiar and out of place, like the lingering smiling portraits of those that had passed into the afterlife.

Blaire wasn’t saying he missed that irritating smile of Sinclair’s, or that he wished for the naïve boy therapist – no, Blaire only wished that he was as safe as he’d been with that original version of Sinclair. 

“Imagine what you could do with none…” Familiar words slipped out of Sinclair’s mouth. He spoke in a daze, the wide eyes he’d been staring at Jeremy appeared glazed over – as if he was a thousand miles away again.  “None…”

The word was left lingering in the air as the meaning of Sinclair’s musing finally sank in. Tensing up violently Jeremy jerked at his restraints, trying to pull himself upright, to put some distance between them. But Sinclair was already moving forward. 

Sinclair moved with purpose but his expression remained empty, there was no manic glee nor was there doubt. He just looked like he’d left his body behind and Jeremy vaguely recalled something he’d been told by Sebastian during their first days together. 

‘ _It must be done! Because it must be done, I must endure it_.’

Was that what this was? Endurance?

Jeremy could only stare at Sinclair as the blonde knelt down beside the bed and ran his fingers over Blaire’s still healing legs. Occasionally Sinclair’s eyes would flicker in contemplation, what he was thinking Jeremy could only guess but unless he was thinking about giving up this idea it would be no good to Jeremy.

“Sin--” Jeremy began to speak the male’s name. He’d meant to growl it but under these circumstances it came out weaker than he’d intended. 

Abruptly Sinclair’s hand covered his mouth, almost smothering him with force behind his palm. Jeremy made a muffled choking sound and tried to move away from Sinclair’s hand but the other only grabbed his jaw, keeping him sufficiently muted.

“Not a word.” Sinclair muttered, voice dropping into a low growl. “I don’t want to hear a single word out of your fucking mouth Blaire. We’re going to fix a few problems tonight.”

There was a pause and Jeremy felt Sinclair’s other hand brush against his shin, he still seemed to be thinking something over but there was a definite choice being made. Suddenly the touch was gone and Sinclair was rummaging around somewhere out of sight. Blaire couldn’t see much from this positioning and Sinclair’s hand kept his head down so he couldn’t even try looking.

“You had better bite down on this.” The hand was gone, replaced with something made of a coarser material than Sinclair’s soft hands. Even when they were used to hurt – Sinclair’s hands remained pitifully soft.

Jeremy recognized the item as a bit of fabric, some sort of rag. It was filthy but Sinclair wasn’t asking and before Jeremy could get out his third swear, the cloth was thrust roughly into his mouth. It certainly made speaking a distant dream but it was not the purpose of the gag.

‘ _Better bite down_.’ Those words rang in Jeremy’s head, mingling with Rick’s voice. He knew those words, he’d heard Rick talk about giving people something to bite on when medical procedures got too painful and there was no pain numbing agents available.

Whatever Sinclair had in mind was going to hurt. Judging by the fact he’d been given even a shred of consideration when Sinclair was this furious – it was going to hurt _a lot_.

“Now Mr. Blaire…” Oh shit, where they really back to the Mr. bit? “Don’t think of this as punishment so much as…a lesson. We can't have you running off again.”

Something was being pushed under his legs, something that felt a lot like a block of wood. Knowing the decrepit state of this house it might have even once been part of the structure. But it was the way that Sinclair placed the wooden block between his ankles that really alarmed Blaire. 

Damn Rick and his never-ending stream of information. He’d spoken about this sort of set up before, a block of wood to separate the legs, sometimes to keep them uplifted just slightly – and a hammer.

Blaire did not appreciate the horrified muffled shouts that came out around his gag but despite the mortifying sounds he made, Jeremy kept on protesting and trying to jerk free of his restraints. 

Sinclair paused.

“Funny.” Sinclair actually had the nerve to chuckle as he spoke, and then he was looking down at Blaire. Sinclair’s eyes were opened wide and there was a familiar grin stretching from ear to ear on his face – okay, so maybe Blaire did miss the naïve Sinclair. Anything was better than this.

“You sound a lot like my friends.” Sinclair cooed. “Oh you know the sounds. Leaking from every corner of that horrible place, screaming, sobbing – pleading. I wonder…do you know how many friends of mine begged for it to stop? Oh I’m sure you have _some_ idea. No? Well…how about a first hand experience then?”

That was when he saw it, sitting innocently against the wall, a hammer. That fulfilled all three of the requirements that Rick had mentioned when he gushed about the methodical way in which someone could break legs – be it for resetting or simply because someone owed you money. 

Then Sinclair’s hand curled around its handle, lifting the rusted old sledgehammer up off the ground. Now he refused to look at Blaire, there were no mocking words and even the smile seemed to have vanished as he approached the bed again.

“Are you satisfied?” Sinclair muttered as he brought the weapon up, lining it up with Jeremy’s left leg.  

The hammer flew down, there was a _crack_ and Jeremy’ was screaming through his gag.  
But it wasn't enough.

"You were right."

The hammer went up a second time, this time a snap and Blaire began to choke on agonized sobs.  
Still not enough.

“I guess I really would do this to you.”

A third time, a distinct break and Blaire was crying.  
Time for the second leg.

"There is nothing good in us, there is _nothing_."

Blaire had never wanted to be wrong so badly in all his life. He didn’t care if Sinclair was annoyingly kind hearted or naïve, hell he would have even been happy to see Sebastian smile happily at him like he did in the past. Anything…just _anything_ besides the broken version of Sinclair that he and Murkoff had created.

And although he probably didn’t mean it in the slightest – Blaire was sobbing out mindless apologizes alongside his thoughtless, wordless screaming.

 


	8. Pity and Profit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a chapter.
> 
> One day I will have a beta-reader...one day.

How long had he been sitting here?  
Staring at his own two hands as if they were stained by something only his eyes could see – how long has Sebastian been sitting here like this?

Long after the screaming had ended, long after the echo of cracking already fragile bones rung in his head. He’d been here for a while, sitting up against a closed door, waiting for the sounds of desperate crying and swearing to fade, knowing that as it grew quieter the gut wrenching feelings would only grow more agonizing.

How long had Jeremy been screaming after him? Minutes or hours, it could have been either and Sinclair wouldn’t have known the difference. He’d shut the door tight and turned off the lights – leaving Blaire to the dark. A grown man like Blaire should not have feared the dark and he probably still didn’t – but the pain must have been beyond measure and being left to it alone in the dark with nothing but rats and time to keep you company, it was enough to elicit screams from even him.

Again Sebastian found himself staring at his open palms, trying to just… _understand_. The actions he’d taken, the things he’d said and the pain he’d inflicted on Blaire were all still filling up his head, slowly but surely pushing out all the anger he’d felt before.

The memory of his rage lingered in the back of his mind, giving a slightly bitter edge to every thought he had. He’d been blinded by that anger, Sebastian was furious with Blaire. For running, for finding Waylon and especially for their run in with Walrider.

“ _You could have died_!” Those words still rung true in his mind. Jeremy really could have been killed and then where would that leave Sinclair? Back to square one with no money and a mountain of hospital bills to pay. He needed Blaire alive and the man had almost ruined that – he almost got both himself and Riley killed because of his recklessness.

So Sebastian had broken his legs.

It had been easy, scarily so. It was almost methodical in his memory, the first leg was the easiest as it only required three hits; the second needed an extra two in order to persuade the stubborn bone to give away. But even once the bones were shattered and the horrible grinding and crunching sounds came to an end, there was still an ungodly racket.

Sinclair had at first been confused by the animalistic wails; it took him a few seconds to realize they were actually coming from Jeremy. Now Sebastian had always known that Blaire was human and just as flawed as the next man, but those anguished moans and sobs were just _too_ human. 

Then he saw it – the tears.

In living memory Sinclair had never seen Blaire cry. Even when he had him strapped to his therapy chair back at the asylum or on the day that he found out Mr. Trager had been taken away – never did he cry. 

So why now? Was the pain really that unbearable, had he really never suffered worse?

No, he knew Blaire had felt worse pains. The memory of the damage Walrider had done to the former executive was still very fresh in Sebastian’s mind, the damage and pain was considerably worse – but he still did not remember tears, at least not like this. Never before had he seen Jeremy Blaire, quite possibly the single scariest individual he’d ever crossed paths with, openly weep.

Just like that, Sebastian had frozen. His body and mind simply stopped and he remained ‘stopped’ for at least a solid minute.

Blaire didn’t seem aware of this, too lost in his own hell to take notice of Sebastian’s current position. The screaming had turned to low groans and long suffering moans. It was almost amusing to watch how he wanted to squirm and thrash but every movement only jostled his newly broken legs and hurt him further.It was almost as amusing as it was chilling.

When Sebastian’s mind returned to him, he was overwhelmed with the feverish desire to escape. He had to get away from the sight of his own handiwork – Sebastian needed to run away from himself in that sense. But the anger had not entirely faded and so as he made his clumsy escape and Blaire’s muffled complaints reached him, Sebastian had responded harshly.

The lights went off and Jeremy began screaming in protest, maybe even pleading but Sebastian had just slammed the door shut. Somewhere between the door shutting and Sebastian turning the lights off Jeremy had managed to get free of his makeshift gag and then the words began flowing.

At first Jeremy had only spat curses and exclamations of pain but the longer Sebastian refused to reply and the longer he was in the dark, alone, the more Blaire’s tone changed. Swearing turned to bargaining and bargaining eventually gave away to something not that far off begging. Sebastian knew that Blaire would never lower himself to begging, but this was as close as it got even if he never did use the word please.

Then, finally, there was incoherent sobs. Occasionally Sebastian could pick out a single word or phrase, mostly expletives, but other than that it sounded no different to listening to a child crying.

And Sebastian had sat there, back against the door and eyes on his hands, forcing himself to listen to every grueling second of it. He needed to hear this, to know what he was capable of doing with these two hands – this was only _one_ small punishment that he deserved.

As he sat there Sebastian noticed the scarring on his hands seemed to be worse. The burn marks that had steadily stretched across the left side of his body seemed to be claiming more and more of him as the days passed. Sebastian assumed that eventually it would cover his entire body and when that happened – he’d probably die.  
Just another punishment he had earned.

A shuddering laugh fell from his mouth as Sebastian stared at his trembling hands. The single chuckle broke the barrier between his silence and all the sounds he’d been biting back came tumbling out. Hysterical laugher bubbled up from the back of his throat and even as his whole body began to shake with the force of his mindless laughter – Sebastian’s eyes remained peeled wide and fixated on his hands.

It was only when the first warm drops of salty water hit his open hands that Sebastian realized he was crying. Still he laughed and still he stared, watching as each new drop of water hit his marred flesh and got caught in the cracks and bumps of his once flawless flesh. The laughter hurt as it racked through his chest, the tears burned his eyes and everything else was lost to a sort of static in the back of his mind.

There was only this, tears and laughter – the very soundtrack to the asylum. All he was lacking was the ungodly screaming and judging by the way his voice grew hoarser and less like laughter that wasn’t far off either.

Then the words he’d been thinking began to overflow along with the tears.

“ _Kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me…”_ Sebastian’s pleas turned into an almost indecipherable babble as air became harder to breath and the tears turned thick enough to choke him.

Just who he was begging to kill him Sebastian couldn’t say. Originally he’d told Blaire that he was already dead, a dead man standing for one purpose only – to help a brother who could not stand himself. Now he realized that even in this imitation of life, he was still able to hurt others. It would be easier, safer to be dead for real.

But Sebastian already knew he wasn’t strong enough for that.  
So instead of doing something useful here he sat, a wreck barely able to form a coherent thought.

Abruptly Sebastian was jerked out of the hysterical mess he’d become by the sound of something buzzing. Not a second after the sound registered in his ears, a soft and uncomfortable vibration went off in his pocket. The insistent humming continued twice more as Sebastian’s heart slowed to a more reasonable pace and his mind cleared up.

The buzzing belonged to his phone, a cruddy little flip phone that had been given to him only recently and there were only three people that knew its number.

And as annoying as the sound was, it was a much-needed distraction. The momentary clarity helped to calm Sebastian enough that the horrible breathless sounds he’d been making stopped. The hollow feeling it left in its wake was hardly preferable.

Silently Sebastian slipped his phone from his pocket, fully aware that his exterior now perfectly matched the fragmented and empty interior. The light from the little screen almost blinded him at first, the added shimmer of the tears yet to fall from his eyes didn’t help the situation. But it didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the harsh light and after a second or two of trying to focus on the glaring screen, Sebastian realised he’d been getting text messages.

Momentarily Sebastian tensed when he saw the first of three consecutive messages and then gradually he relaxed and even managed a small smile as he read through the hastily typed up messages. No doubt the sender was nervous about writing them, how like him.

“Hmpf…” Smiling faintly to himself Sebastian flicked the phone shut and let out a tired sigh. “Better not keep him waiting.”

The struggle of easing himself back to his feet was nothing to scoff at. Similarly the effort entailed as Sebastian stumbled slowly down the stairs of the decrepit old shack and the difficulty he had fixing his face after that little outburst, was substantial.

Despite the greatly appreciated distraction, Sebastian was unable to wash himself clean of the hollow feeling residing in the pit of his stomach and even as he made his way out of the little shack of a house – there was a small tug at the back of his mind.

With one hand on the doorknob, Sebastian stood for a few seconds in silence; barely able to stop himself from directing sore eyes back towards the room Blaire was in. It was dark in there with the curtains pulled and the lights off, Blaire was probably still suffering even in a deep sleep and when he woke up he would be alone and in agony again.

Sebastian should have gone up there and pulled open the curtains, left the door open for Blaire – just done something to ease the suffering of his captive.

He should have, but instead Sebastian walked out the front door and left Blaire and the house behind. He knew it would not be the last time he walked through those doors but Sebastian wished that he’d never come back. Sebastian no longer wanted to do this, but his hands had been tied from the start and he’d done it all himself.

The money, the unbridled loathing – all of it kept him just as tied up at Blaire.  
He doubted Jeremy would see it in the same light.

 

…  
…

“Sebastian.” A kind voice did wonders for an exhausted soul and hearing Waylon speaking his name in such a welcoming manner was certainly doing those wonders for him.

He’d barely stepped through the door of the coffee shop when Waylon had called out to him. It was a tiny place, filled with homely sights and smells. Every angle of the shop was soft and welcoming. The smell of coffee was just strong enough to get Sebastian’s mind to start making a mental order for what drink he wanted, but it was the scent of flowers mingling with the coffee fragrance that made Sebastian’s tired face crack a smile.

The shop was a little bit messy if a critical eye looked at it, more like someone’s home than a business. Blankets of all patterns and colors were draped over the cushy lounges and there were books scattered around with no real order – all free for customers to flick through of course. The actual coffee section of the shop was normal enough, passable but what always caught Sinclair’s eye was the fall of different flowers behind the counter and the little glass counter next the wooden counter for coffee.

Sinclair didn’t know who originally thought flowers would be a good thing to sell in a coffee shop and he could imagine all the practical problems that came with the set up – but he wasn’t about to complain. The place was easy on the eyes and the coffee was just what he needed to get through every second the day could throw at him.

For now it was a sanctuary used to ease Sebastian’s probably severely damaged mind – Waylon seemed to share that sentiment as he waved Sebastian over to join him by the usual spot in the window.

Sebastian took a moment to make sure he face didn’t mirror his exhaustion too much before wandering over to Waylon. He never knew pretending to be okay would take so much _effort_ , he hadn’t been required to act in the past but the alternative was troubling Waylon and that wasn’t even worth considering.

Not to mention Sebastian didn’t see the conversation of ‘hey I have Blaire locked up in my torture shack’ as a particularly good way to start the day.

Thankfully Waylon seemed to be in a good mood as Sebastian slid down into the seat across from him. He was already holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and Sebastian found himself staring at it enviously.

“Sorry, I would have waited.” Waylon apologized sheepishly, noting the hungry stare. “But you always tell me not to…”

“True enough.” Sebastian mused with a faint chuckle of amusement. “It takes me a while to get here usually, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your morning pick me up.”

Waylon had an easy going smile about him today and Sebastian took a moment to marvel at how well he looked now days. The haunted look still lingered in his eyes but his face had gotten back to a healthy glow and his skin no longer looked so tight around his bones. Waylon looked like he did before Murkoff and that was enough to set Sebastian’s mind at ease.

But the way that Waylon looked at him sometimes reminded Sebastian that he’d never look like he once did. The scars throbbed tauntingly against his healthy skin and Sebastian fought back the urge to scratch at them.

“Where have you been recently Sebastian?” Waylon asked curiously, breaking Sebastian’s train of thought with the innocent question. “We haven’t had coffee together for a week now. Busy?”

There was hope in his tone. Waylon wanted Sebastian to get a job, find some sort of normalcy in his life again. It wouldn’t help to tell him about Blaire so Sebastian kept that part to himself when he replied.

“I’ve been spending more time at the hospital, I’ve also had a few run ins with Miles recently.” Not technically a lie but not close enough to the truth to keep Sebastian from feeling guilty. It didn’t help when Waylon’s expression fell in disappointment.

“And how is he?” This time the question was more solemn, concerned about the answer.

“The doctors say he’s doing well…but how can you tell when someone is comatosed?” Sinclair didn’t bother arguing with doctors, he could barely stand being in hospitals let alone looking at people in doctor’s uniforms. He and Waylon both struggled with that – their memories making such simple tasks difficult.

“How about you?” Sebastian asked, taking a knowing look down at Waylon’s leg – or rather the metal replacement that now counted as his leg.

“It’s still a little strange.” Waylon admitted, jutting the fake limb out from under the table to get a good look at the replica. “And I swear it squeaks sometimes. Drives me absolutely mad, you know I like to kick my foot when I work and it just keeps _squeaking_!”

It was good to hear Waylon speaking so openly about his condition and the conversation was much nicer than thinking about Riley in hospital. “And what does Lisa think about it?”

“She keeps telling me to walk with it more.” Sebastian bit back a chuckle, knowing Lisa wouldn’t be lenient with her reluctant husband. He’d get used to that artificial leg even if she had to growl at him every step of the way. “The boys like it though. Especially at the beach.”

“Burying it in the sand?” Sebastian guessed with a dry chuckle of amusement. Waylon’s children were certainly full of energy – Sebastian wasn’t sure he could keep up with them if he tried. It seemed like Waylon also struggled in that department sometimes, but having two happy faces full of life was hardly a bad thing – after Murkoff it might have been exactly what Waylon needed.

“They like to see if they can trick people into thinking it’s real.” Waylon laughed, the sound pleasing Sebastian.

Waylon had been a wreck the first time they’d met after the asylum, still so jittery and anxious – it hadn’t helped when his last memories of Sebastian were not that different to Blaire’s.

So the first time they bumped into each other outside of the asylum…well it hadn’t exactly been a warm welcome.

…  
…

He was going to run.

Sebastian could see it in the saucers that were Waylon Park’s eyes as he stared up at the former therapist. Sebastian himself had been just as surprised when he bumped into the techie, it never occurred to him that Waylon would have survived the horrific experience and even if he had, Sebastian thought he would have been a thousand miles away from this place. Across continents if at all possible.

But here he was, reflecting Sebastian’s own surprised expression in his terrified eyes. Then his body tensed, leaning slightly away before taking the first stumbling step back.

Yep definitely going to run.

“Way--”

And just like that he was off, breaking into a dead sprint in the first direction that wasn’t Sinclair – and for a few seconds Sebastian almost let him go. There was no need to further terrify the man who probably thought that he’d end up being cut into tiny pieces by the man he briefly been friends with.

In all honesty Sebastian wasn’t entirely certain as to why he did go after Waylon. It was a knee jerk reaction to catch him, and later he reasoned that he simply wanted to talk to the other. Just to convince himself that he hadn’t been chasing Waylon out of habits picked up at the asylum.

It was on that first day that Sebastian got to see what Waylon had been left with as a reminder of the asylum when his leg seemed to buckle out of nowhere and the techie fell flat on his face only a few steps ahead of Sebastian. At first he was confused, approaching the fallen man with caution but then the gleam of Waylon’s leg caught his eye and he realized the man had tripped because he was not running with his own two legs.

Feeling guilt that in no way belonged to him, Sebastian had come to stand in front of Waylon, and judging by the way he was shaking Waylon thought he was going to die.

What did someone say in this situation? Somehow ‘sorry I was a murderous psychopath, buddy’ didn’t seem to cut it. Instead Sebastian got down onto one knee and offered his hand to Waylon.

“I know a good coffee place around the corner. Get you off that leg for a bit?”

As to why they seemed like a good thing to say Sebastian couldn’t explain – it just seemed like a good idea at the time. It was meant as a sort of reassurance, a peace offering that sounded friendly and hopefully void of any murderous intent to Waylon’s ears. His attempt must have passed some sort of test because Waylon spoke instead of running.

“You’re alive. You made it out.” Waylon’s reply didn’t give Sebastian a confirmation to his offer but it he was encouraged when the other took the offered hand.

“So did you.” Sebastian gently eased the two of them back to their feet, watching as Waylon stumbled on the replacement leg. “Most of you.”

“Got a piece of wood jammed through it.” Waylon murmured his story distractedly, obviously still shaken by his little run and fall – or maybe just by Sebastian. “It got infected…by the time I was out it had to go.”

He had no answer for that, condolences seemed to be the most appropriate but he doubted Waylon would want to hear it. Instead they stood there in silence for a few seconds, trying to figure out where to go from there.

“You killed people.” Waylon eventually muttered.

His eyes were weary, watching every little move Sebastian made for any indication that he was still content to kill people even outside of the asylum.

“I did.” Sebastian kept his answer short, concise and honest. Any lies he told would be found out anyway – better to let everything come to light and let Waylon be the judge of the situation.

“You tried to kill me.”

“I know…”

Waylon lapsed into silence for a few agonizing seconds and Sebastian was certain he was going to flee. Instead Waylon took a deep, calming breath and asked a critical question – simple and a sort of deal breaker if Sebastian answered wrong.

“Are you going to try again?”

“No.”

A few more seconds of silence and then finally;  
“Coffee you say…?”

What had possessed Waylon into actually coming with him was something that Sebastian had never fully wrapped his head around but before he knew it he was introducing Waylon to their new meet up place and ordering him the strongest, sweetest coffee available.

“Oh. Sin, you’ve brought a friend today?” On that day Waylon had also been introduced to the owner of the strange little flower shop.

“Well this is a first – drinks on me today alright sweetie?” Mary’s smile seemed to help Sebastian’s case and Waylon had actually agreed to sit down and have a chat with him – who was he to refuse hospitality?

As they sat there, staring at their own hot beverages in crushing silence, Sebastian struggled with the correct apology to say. No matter how he worded it in his head nothing seemed right, nothing seemed to express just how incredibly sorry he was.

Waylon was the one that saved their conversation on that day.

“What happened to you?” Waylon asked slowly, and Sebastian was surprised when there was no anger or fear in the words. Waylon just sounded tired and it didn’t take long for Sebastian to realize what that tone was – Waylon _understood_.

With a dry chuckle, Sebastian looked over his coffee mug, filled with hot chocolate rather than caffeine, and managed a smile. “What would you like to hear first?”

“Your face.” The blunt answer was obvious and really when Sinclair thought about it – where else was there to start?

“The engine program.” He replied just as bluntly and then for good measure added. “Blaire.”

“Yeah. Me to.”

The look they’d shared after that seemed to finally set them both at ease. Sebastian had thought on that day that neither of them was a bad person – they’d just been apart of bad things and that thought helped to warm his heart a little.

“So.” Waylon continued slowly, his voice more at ease. “How long were you down there?”

“A few weeks, I think. They didn’t exactly give me a calendar but there was an order to things. I got a few daily…events that helped me keep track of time – for the most part anyway. How about you?”

“A couple of hours.” Sebastian hadn’t meant to laugh; it sort of just slipped out. It was an ugly sound, a mix of condescension and maybe even some envy. The sound only got him a small glare from Waylon and Sebastian knew he should be more sympathetic. He still had both his legs after all.

“What did they get you for?” Sebastian had tried to sound apologetic in his tone when he asked the question; he hadn’t meant to laugh like that.

“I tried to…ah…well I tried to out them.” Sebastian – understandably – looked surprised. Clocking the expression Waylon began to fall over his explanation in a way that was more familiar to Sebastian. It fit his memory of Waylon better than the serious expression he wore now.

“People were vanishing, hell you vanished! Then Steven and then Riley and…well you get the idea. I couldn’t stand it, that place was toxic and…well the things they were doing to the patients. I needed to do _something_.”

Sebastian smiled, an honest expression, as he looked at Waylon in a new light. Waylon was incredible; he had done something Sebastian never even got close to. It may not have worked out the way he intended but it was still the single kindest thing anyone in that place had ever done – it was the first good thing to ever be done in Mount Massive Asylum.

“But Blaire caught me.” The amount of spite in those four words was a shared sentiment between the two of them. “Got me thrown into those damn testing rooms, I still see those patterns behind my eyes sometimes.”

Sebastian kept his mouth shut, he remembered the images and frequently they visited him in his sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about that sort of hell. Instead he kept Waylon talking.

“But you made it.” Sebastian pushed. “How?”

And then a whole horror story spilled out of Waylon. Every little detail he went over thoroughly and as Sebastian sat there letting it all sink in he knew that Waylon hadn’t told anybody else this story yet. Perhaps he’d held it back from those he loved, because it was too gruesome, too horrible and personal to share with those untainted by the asylum.

But Sebastian was not like those innocents. He was just as dirty and ruined by that place as Park and so everything he’d been holding back just came tumbling out in a frantic mess of words. Sebastian actually felt Waylon getting lighter, he could see a great weight being lifted from his shoulders and despite the horrible subject matter – Sebastian felt relieved.

“Wait.” That was until a familiar name came up. “What happened to Gluskin?”

Waylon recounted the event shortly before the riots. Gluskin throwing himself against the glass window begging to be let out and then his eventual fate. Sebastian felt his entire body turn cold and his grip on the half empty mug became painfully tight.

“You were close to him?” Waylon guessed, remembering the times that Sebastian would speak about his patient with such high hopes.

“No.” Sebastian answered flatly. “We were never close, barely even spoke. But I had hoped…”

Trailing off Sebastian ended the thought in a small sigh of defeat. “I had hoped for so much better – for   _all_ of them.”

Waylon left out the rest of his story that included Gluskin on that day, he hadn’t wanted to hurt Sebastian further with the ugly details of what Gluskin had become. He didn’t need to know exactly what the ‘Groom’ had done. That was a story he shared for their third coffee date.

“What did you do all that time in the asylum?” Waylon asked once he felt he’d talked enough to last him until their next meeting. “Last time I saw you, you were well…”

“Crazy?” Sebastian supplied with a faint smile. “Yes, I really was, wasn’t I?” Leaning back in his seat Sebastian let his eyes slide shut, allowing a few of the memories to fly through his mind.

“I was looking for someone.” He admitted finally. “At first I was looking for my brother but then that turned into a witch hunt for…Blaire.”

“Did…did you find him?” Waylon asked uncertainly. The shift in his body seemed to mirror an unconscious shift in his mind, between what he knew he should be thinking and what he was actually feeling. Waylon was a kind person; he knew he shouldn’t have wished any sort of suffering onto anyone. But Blaire was a sort of special case that put Waylon’s morality almost on hold.

“A few times.”

There was a pause after that as Sebastian allowed his mind to roll over the various encounters he had with Blaire inside the asylum and the final time he saw the man – in pieces all over the lobby. Why he’d stopped to mend him was still a mystery to his now healthier mind. What he had been thinking in his unhinged state was frequently impossible to remember – but the actions were always vivid in his mind.

“He’s dead.” Waylon’s blunt conclusion surprised Sebastian, gaining his attention in an instant. “Walrider tore him apart.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to correct Waylon but then second-guessed himself. There was no telling if Blaire was alive or not even if he’d been breathing when Sinclair left him. There was every chance he had died from his injuries or been killed by something else. But the reason Sebastian did not correct Waylon was simple – Blaire being dead was a gift.

Waylon would sleep better thinking the man dead, and so Sinclair kept what he knew to himself. Instead he simply agreed with Waylon.  
“I know, I saw him on the way out.”

Neither of them said anything further about Blaire but Sebastian could have guessed his drinking partner’s thoughts – ‘ _serves him right_.’

It was such an ugly thought they shared, and Sebastian hoped one day it would not longer ring so true in his mind. He wanted to be a kind person, not a spiteful man. One day…

“I wasn’t trying to kill you.” Sebastian suddenly piped up once the silence had gone on too long. “Back in the asylum I mean…I don’t think that’s what I was trying to do.”

Even if it was hard to remember exactly what he was thinking back in the asylum, Sebastian didn’t think killing Waylon was his goal. He had always hunted Blaire relentlessly and killed inconveniences but he hadn’t sought out murder as readily as some others. Instead he had lingered with his patients and played therapist with them like he was still sane enough to do that. He’d just been playing house with them.

“I probably wanted to have you join our group therapy.” Waylon’s expression wasn’t encouraging, sort of looked like Sebastian had just said he wanted him to join in their happy murder fun time, or something equally unappealing and ridiculous. Sebastian laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck when held under that expression. “Well…I never said it was a better alternative did I?”

“You gave me one hell of a fright back there.” Waylon sighed, seeming to remember the event more vividly than he’d like to, but he at least looked faintly amused by what Sebastian had said.

“You run fast when you want to. Wouldn’t have thought you could move like that, chicken legs.” Waylon had jumped up to defend his pale white boy legs or rather single leg. The ferocious way he defended his spindly leg’s honor brought a real chuckle out of Sebastian, it felt good to laugh again.

“You’re the one that looks like he’s half beef jerky!” Sebastian had stopped laughing at that, hand instinctively going to his leathery face. Waylon seemed to realize he’d actually said that out loud and visibly faltered, worrying he’d really hurt Sebastian with that jab.

“I-I….I didn’t mean…shit man, I didn’t mean to--” Waylon tried to withdraw his comment but stumbled over the words, knowing that the damage had already been done.

“I’ll have you know…” Sebastian began in a low growl, fingers curling into a fist by his scarred face. “…I look like the most badass god damn beef jerky you’ve ever seen chicken legs!”

And then Waylon was laughing as well. Sebastian didn’t mind the teasing, it was nice to just act normal for a while – so he’d accept whatever taunting names they could throw at one another. It was only when the ‘robot chicken’ jokes started coming out that Waylon called it quits, deciding that the idiocy was too much and he’d split his sides if they laughed much more.

“Well, well.” Mary came over to the pair’s table, a serving tray held carelessly by her shoulder as she observed the two laughing men. “It certainly is cheerful over here.”

Eventually Sebastian was able to calm his snickering enough to finally answer Mary. “Ah, yeah. A good laugh is just what I needed.” Mary tossed him a relieved smile and Sebastian knew that it helped her to relax seeing him interact with someone this well. Mary worried about him more than she needed to.

“Hm, if that’s the case how about we make a little deal. The two of you keep being this cheerful together and I’ll discount your drinks when you visit.” Mary was the one that set them up, gave the two healing men the small nudge they needed to keep doing these meet ups and over time they developed a pattern.

They’d arrive at the coffee shop, choose their caffeine hit of the day and then sit down to chat. Usually they swapped horror stories about the asylum, healing through their sharing and then once they felt they’d done enough of the heavy stuff – they’d laugh a bit. Over time they didn’t need to have such dark conversations anymore and they could talk like friends – almost like they did when they first met.

Mary had given Sebastian something he’d been lacking for a long time – she gave him a friend.

For that they always left a tip worth far more than their discount, even if Mary insisted they don’t. It was just a small way to show their appreciation.

…  
…

This shop became sanctuary and Waylon became a lifeline to keep Sebastian grounded.  
And today Sebastian needed Waylon to save him again.

“Hey…” Sebastian began slowly as he toyed with the fresh cup of hot chocolate Mary had placed before him a few minutes prior. It was drowned in cream and marshmallows and even though the sweet taste was incredibly strong – Sebastian relished in it. Too sugary was somehow just the right type of sweet torture for him apparently.

Waylon hummed in acknowledgement from behind his coffee, the casual response doing wonders for Sebastian’s nerves.

“When the boys act up – do something that requires punishment…how do you handle that?” Sebastian asked the question even as his mind screamed degrading thoughts at him. His situation was not as simple as spilt milk or staying up too late at night and Blaire sure as hell was not his child – but how else was he suppose to ask for help?

“The boys are pretty good.” Waylon mused offhandedly. “Sure they act out from time to time but they’re young boys, we knew they’d be a handful going in.” There was a pause and Sebastian herd Waylon set his mug down against the wooden table. “Where possible we don’t punish them, it’s not fun for anyone.”

Sebastian’s memory helpfully supplied the muffled shrieks from Blaire and his own breakdown afterwards – no the situation hadn’t been fun for anyone involved.

“But you still do it right?” Sebastian insisted, keeping his gaze down. “Because…it teaches them?” He tried pathetically, realizing that he wasn’t entirely certain what he thought the reason behind punishment was.

“Well yes…” Waylon continued cautiously. “But it’s more about keeping them safe. If they do something dangerous we have to make sure they know not to do it again. A quick slap on the wrist usually. But mostly it’s just to make sure they grow up into fine young men.”

Well that ship had long since sailed for Blaire.

But it was the comment about keeping them safe that really stuck in Sebastian’s mind. His own angry words echoed back at him, at the time he’d said them to Blaire with Riley in mind – with the money he needed in mind. However now that there was some distance between him and the anger he’d been feeling at the time – Sebastian realized that maybe he’d also been a little worried.

He didn’t like Blaire, no one seemed to like the man much but Sebastian didn’t want to see Walrider finish the job either. He didn’t particularly want to see Jeremy in pain either. Distantly he recalled their attempts at getting Jeremy to stand and walk when he was still recovering from the wounds of the asylum, remembered how his heart twisted painfully in his chest when Jeremy would stumble and cry out in pain.

There were other times Sebastian felt this concern as well. Whenever he had to work on Blaire’s injuries it was agony to listen to his growl and cries or pain, he’d even tried to explain that to Jeremy once before but it didn’t seem like his former boss understood the sentiment. Then there was that whole coffee incident – if he were to be honest Sebastian would have to admit that he just wanted to see Jeremy have _something_.

He’d turned it into a lesson, making a show of tipping out the coffee Blaire thought was for him, allowing him to feel that loss before giving him the other cup once it was cool enough for him to drink. Sebastian hadn’t needed to do any of it, the coffee, the assistance with the walking or even the extent of the medical attention he gave him.

If he was more like Blaire he would have kept his prisoner alive with the most minimal amount of effort – just enough to profit off them.  
Sinclair couldn’t do it, he couldn’t be that heartless. In the end that was his downfall, he pitied them both far too much.

“Have you ever gone too far with a punishment?” Sebastian could feel Waylon’s baffled gaze on him but refused to look up and meet it. He needed to hear this, to figure out what he had to do from here.

“Why do you ask?” _Crap_.

Sebastian didn’t have an answer for that.There seemed to be a lot of things he couldn’t tell Waylon lately.

“I am… _was_ a therapist.” Sebastian spoke quietly, correcting his small mistake as he began to lie to Waylon. “But I’ve been told I’m too kind, that I give patients too much leniency – that I should have used tough love sometimes. But it always made me feel so horrible to be cruel.”

It was not technically a lie, he had been told that before – mostly by people like Blaire actually. And yes, perhaps he had been too gentle in the past. He forgave things easily, resolved others of blame where they should have faced it instead – he was naïve and too kind. Sometimes he feared he’d done more bad than good in trying to help his patients so much.

“Oh.” Waylon made a sound of understanding, readily accepting the lie from someone he knew to be truthful for the most part. That only made Sebastian feel worse, knowing how trusting Waylon was, but it got the job done. “Well…hm.” It seemed like Waylon was struggling with this a bit and so Sebastian waited quietly, letting the father of two think.

“When you’d ‘punish’ someone and feel horrible, did you think it was the right thing to do?”

“Yes.” Sebastian answered immediately but once again Blaire’s tear stained face popped up in his mind, cutting down the answer he’d given. “Ah…no. No, I don’t. At the time it felt right, but afterwards… No. It felt wrong.”

“Alright, well here’s my little slice of advice for you. Above punishing kids, it’s more important to take a moment to understand them.” Waylon chuckled when he said that, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “When my boys misbehave I find it’s better to talk it out with them than just give them a smack and say ‘no’. They’ve surprised me a few times with their reasons for doing things, they’ve cried a few times over things I didn’t know were bothering them.”

“Once, they scared me so bad I thought I was going to have a heart attack right there but when I got to scolding them, demanding what they thought they were doing it turned out that one of their friends had told them Lisa and I were getting a divorce. So…the silly boys thought that they could stop that from happening by getting into danger. I have no idea what logic they were using.”

Waylon paused, staring at the window with that distant look he’d sometimes wear when he was deep in memory. But this was the first time Sebastian had ever seen him look like that over a happy memory.

“I almost cried with them. They were still grounded of course but how could I be mad at them when they told me how scared they’d been? So instead of shouting at them or giving them a smack, we talked it out, gave them a hug, reminded them we’d love them no matter what and that we weren’t leaving one another. I suppose it’s important to hear their side as well as your own.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but stare at Waylon in wonder. That family of his was admirable and Sebastian found himself envying the techie greatly and there was the familiar aching in his chest that longed for his brother to come back.

“What did your parents do?” Waylon asked abruptly. “When you misbehaved.”

Sebastian really had to dig deep in his memory to find an answer for that. His parents were a far away memory from his childhood but after a few seconds of pondering he had an answer.

“I didn’t get into trouble much…but Riley did occasionally. I saw our father give him five hits on the hands once for swearing around our Ma. He didn’t like people swearing in front of women. But he did it strangely. He demanded Riley walk over to him and hold out his hands and after the smacks Riley would always say it didn’t hurt that bad, that the walk was the worst part. Mental warfare I guess. But they died when I was still pretty small, I never got into enough trouble to warrant those smacks.”

Waylon had asked about his family before and Sebastian always felt bad that he didn’t have more to offer. The stories Waylon had about his wife and kids were extensive and various – mostly happy with a few sad memories in there. The most beautiful moment Waylon had shared with him was the day they were reunited after the horrors of the asylum.

He’d spoken fondly of the hugging and the tears, how they’d laughed even while embracing one another. Waylon told Sebastian that he knew he’d never feel normal again and that he never wanted to let go of Lisa and the kids for as long as he lived. Despite how horrible it had been and how the fear still lingered with him – being back with his family made it all feel far away and small. He’d felt happy again.

And as friends do – Waylon had asked what it was like coming home to his own family after all that.

He hadn’t meant to make Waylon sad when he told him that there was no one to come home to, but the lanky young man had still ended up close to tears. Sebastian laughed kindly with him and pat his back, trying to sooth the man before he really did cry. Waylon had apologized for asking as well and when Sebastian asked why he was so torn about his answer, Waylon had said that he was upset because Sebastian wasn’t.

‘If you won’t cry, I’ll damn well do it for you!’ Waylon had told him angrily, still biting back some emotion and Sebastian couldn’t do anything besides comfort his friend. He’d never seen anyone be sad for him, he hardly knew how to process the information but at the end of the day he felt a warm feeling growing in his chest. He would thank Waylon properly for it one day, for being such an unbearably sappy person just when Sebastian needed it the most.

“The goal isn’t to hurt.” Waylon ventured after hearing about Riley’s punishment. “No one really wants to hurt someone they love, it was the warning that did most of the work in the end.”

“I don’t really know how to do this.” Sebastian lamented with a heavy sigh. “I feel like I’ll just hurt someone if I try to do it.”

“Then don’t punish them.” Waylon shrugged, speaking like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “You’re a therapist right? You know how to listen and sympathize with people. Do that instead.”

Sebastian wasn’t going to say how much it meant to him to hear Waylon say he is a therapist rather than was. Instead he pondered Waylon’s suggestion for a moment.

Could he empathize with someone like Blaire? They lived in two entirely different worlds – Jeremy’s world looked cold and lonely and no matter how he’d tried to be kind to him when they first met, Jeremy had never changed at all. Sebastian didn’t like the executive’s world but he felt like he could know it.

But Jeremy couldn’t know Sebastian’s world. How could someone so devoid of affection and morality understand the light that Sebastian longed after?

Looking at Waylon and his clumsy smile, Sebastian knew that Blaire couldn’t possibly understand that kind of world. A place where family meant more than money and a kind action spoke volumes above what a power play could.

“I don’t think I can.” Sebastian muttered dejectedly, unable to keep up sunny pretenses today. “I don’t think I can understand these people.”

And then Waylon laughed at him. A sharp bark of laughter that ended in a cough simply because it was so abrupt. Astounded Sebastian just stared at Waylon as he laughed.

“W-When did our roles become so reversed?” Waylon sputtered, clapping a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder in what he guessed was an act of encouragement. “You were the one that always told me that those patients could be saved, that even the more heinous life could be understood right?”

“That was…different.” Sebastian tried weakly.

“If you can see hope in people like Eddie Gluskin I think you can find it in anyone.” Waylon told him sternly and Sebastian couldn’t help but think he’d be singing a very different tune if he knew the person in question was Jeremy Blaire.

“Think about it.” Waylon announced in that tone that said he was positive Sebastian would. “Consider what I’ve said – you never know it might just help.”

…  
…

He was in hell.  
He had to be in hell, there was no other explanation for why his entire body was aching with this ungodly pain.

At first the feeling had been a faint prick at the back of his sleeping mind that told Jeremy that he was injured but at conscious it came roaring in with a vengeance, that faint prick became a white-hot poker through the senses. It was a miracle that Jeremy didn’t wake up screaming bloody murder.

The sound he did make upon returning to the world of the living wasn’t much better however, a low strangled groan slipped out of his throat as the day greeted him with the mind numbing pain. This was painfully reminiscent of the first time he’d woken up on this bed without his restraints. Jeremy took a moment to mule over that memory.

He could still distinctly remember the nauseating smell that came with his open wounds and the horrible seconds between parting his legs from the blanket and seeing for himself how ruined he was. That memory seemed far away to him now, as he remained held tight to the bed, unable to even look at his legs – not that he needed to, it was very clear in his mind what they’d look like. Images of his legs bent and twisted at all odd angles flashed into his mind and even Jeremy had to admit it might have been a little dramatized in his imagination.

The pain was not all that dissimilar to what Jeremy remembered but the feeling was massively different. Because despite how horrendous the pain was, he wasn’t alone this time.

From the moment he’d woken up Jeremy knew that Sinclair was there with him. It wasn’t the outline of his figure in the dimly lit room, nor the faint sound of his breathing that gave it way – instead it was the presence of a gentle cooling sensation being laid against Jeremy’s legs that had tipped him off and simultaneously awaken him.

The thing that Sinclair had put on his legs was chilling but the sensation was more than welcome against his aching bones. It wouldn’t do much to combat the break but it may just help with the swelling and dull the pain until Sinclair decided to give him something more substantial – like a bucket of painkillers.

When Jeremy was aware enough to register Sinclair’s presence fully he opened his mouth, already having a few choice swears lined up for the psycho. But nothing came out. He tried, really he did but Jeremy was just unable to say what was on his mind. A quick mental check of what pains he had and where told him that Sinclair hadn’t cut out his tongue or torn out vocal cords while Jeremy was asleep – it was just like Jeremy couldn’t find his own voice.

That was a first, a real first. No matter how angry or recently scared he’d been Jeremy Blaire was not one to be at a loss for a voice. Perhaps it was a mercy just this once, after breaking both his legs Jeremy wasn’t sure pushing Sinclair was his next best choice. So there they sat in silence, the small comfort that was the cold thing on his legs gradually numbed his skin – it was uncomfortable and never really took away all the pain but it wasn’t a bad start.

“I’m sorry.”

Not the first words that Jeremy was expecting to come out of Sinclair. The apology made speaking an even further away dream, not only had he lost his voice but now shock had stolen his words as well.

What was one expected to say to that sort of an apology? Somehow Blaire didn’t feel terribly forgiving and for once he felt justified in that respect. Oh, how the tides had shifted on the day Jeremy Blaire held the moral high ground. He’d trade it in an instant for the actual high ground though.

When the silence continued Sinclair let out a small sigh, his body shifting forward with the motion as if he was exhausted. Blaire watched him rest his forehead against his hands and couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like right now. His scarred face had become so familiar to him that Jeremy was certain he could have picked out any emotion on it if he could just _see_.

Perhaps the apology was not for what he’d already done but what he planned to do. Maybe he had finally decided Blaire wasn’t worth the trouble and aggravation and planned to do away with him. That could have very well have been the case but Jeremy didn’t find himself getting anxious over the possibility because in the back of his mind he was positive that he was going to live long enough to suffer through healing bones.

As the silence stretched into being uncomfortably long Jeremy began to think back to the moments after his legs had been snapped. The shouting and eventual humiliation of begging came back to him but his focus was on something just a little beyond his own self. Because Jeremy swore he could have heard Sinclair muttering on the other side of the door.

Jeremy knew Sinclair wasn’t going to kill him today because he’d heard his begging to die himself only hours earlier. But for some reason he could not fathom, Jeremy didn’t say a word about it to Sinclair – at least for the time being.

“Your legs.” Sinclair finally spoke again just as the silence was becoming painful. “How are they?”

Jeremy scoffed at the mere absurdity of that question and Sinclair let out another sigh – he definitely sounded tired. “I’ll get you something for the pain.” There was a pause before Sinclair added hesitantly. “What would you like to eat with your medication? There’s a little Tai shop in town, I could get something from there for you?”

First off, _yes_. Jeremy wasn’t about to pass up perfectly serviceable food no matter how bizarre the offer was. Secondly, what in god’s name just happened? Understandably Blaire was weary of this turn and the silence continued to stretch on. Sinclair finally turned his eyes onto Blaire. If he’d looked at him in frustration or anger Blaire wouldn’t have been surprised, but he wasn’t expecting the tired way his eyes regarded Jeremy’s body.

“Silent treatment?” Sinclair murmured in disbelief. “Of all the times you decide _not_ to talk…you choose now?”

Blaire was caught between smirking and glaring at Sebastian but neither expression made it out entirely as his face screwed up in pain again, followed by a small hiss of discomfort. The sound jerked Sebastian into action, abruptly he was off the bed, moving over to the table by the door where he kept a majority of the medical supplies – at least the ones he couldn’t cram into the bathroom cabinet.

Jeremy could see new plastic bags on the floor, some still containing the items they’d been used to carry in and others now laying lifeless and empty on the ground. New provisions and judging from the brands on those bags Sebastian had been buying some pretty high end medical supplies. The cost vaguely ran through Blaire’s head and he wondered where the money was coming from, eventually he decided it would all come out of his own pay if Sebastian had his way.

Then without meaning to speak at all, a question slipped out of Blaire before he could even process what he was saying. “Why do you need the money anyway?” The demand came out in a low rasp, it was a far cry from strong but it was certainly unfriendly and for now that would satisfy Jeremy.

Sebastian paused, the pills he’d no doubt been getting for Jeremy still in his hands as he straightened up. Blaire cursed himself for wasting his time and energy; Sinclair wasn’t going to tell him anything he hadn’t already. When they first started this nonsense Blaire had taken a shot at Sebastian’s reasons for keeping him prisoner – a holiday to Hawaii or plastic surgery to fix his burned face. At the time he hadn’t said much about it, just indulged Jeremy’s taunts.

Jeremy was just about to growl at Sebastian to forget he asked and give him his damn pills when his former employee actually answered him.

“Recently…” He began slowly; voice tense with what Jeremy could only guess was doubt. “…I was told that it’s important to hear both sides of a story. In light of that, I’ll answer any question you ask.” Sebastian had finally started moving again; turning to face Blaire with a bottle of freshly bought water and two pills in hand. “Within reason of course.”

“You want to play secret swapping?” Jeremy scoffed, finding that even with his sore throat the words came out in a rather satisfying snarl. He’d missed this, the condescension in his voice – the sense that even while he was beaten down he could still somehow be superior to Sebastian.

“And what makes you think I’ll answer anything you ask anyway?” Jeremy added in an indignant growl. Sebastian gave the water bottle a little wiggle and raised his eyebrows knowingly. Okay, fair point.

Something like a smile formed on Sebastian’s face as he walked back over to the bed, setting down the pills and water as he settled back down into his usual spot. A small groan of dissatisfaction slipped out of Blaire’s mouth when he was not immediately given the pills. Sinclair gave him a stern look and opened his mouth, probably to make demands or a bargain but seemed to think better of it after a moment and shut his mouth again.

“Don’t rush.” Sinclair advised, picking up the pills and water again and for once Jeremy didn’t complain about being fed. The dull aching in his legs kept those complaints at bay. So without so much as a grunt of displeasure, Jeremy swallowed the two small pills with the offered swig of water.

Once he’d taken them however Blaire couldn’t help but make a sound of disgust, alarming Sinclair who seemed to think he’d choked on the pills a bit. “Cheap bottled water.” Blaire explained offhandedly in a low growl, tastes like plastic.

“Oh well forgive me for not providing high end water your highness.” Sebastian drawled with a roll of his eyes, setting the lighter bottle back down. “From what I heard you practically lived off alcohol – is water just too foreign a substance for you now?”

“You probably also heard that I spat fire and murdered puppies.”

“And don’t you?” How Sebastian kept a straight face when asking that was beyond Blaire. It only really occurred to him in that moment that he wasn’t afraid. Sinclair wasn’t scared of Blaire and Jeremy wasn’t afraid of the man that had only hours ago broken his legs.

The first explanation that came to mind was that he really had snapped, gone off the deep end never to reemerge. While that may be true, Jeremy also knew how the sense of safety had come about – the person he was with right now didn’t resemble the man that broke his legs at all. Instead he looked more like the boy that spent so much of his time fretting over his patients and brother.

The same kid that smiled at Blaire naively and honestly at the asylum despite all the underhanded insults Blaire threw at him. It didn’t feel anything like the madman that chased him through a bloody asylum and it took Jeremy a while to realize why he felt this difference. When Sebastian looked at him there was no trace of the anger he’d grown used to seeing.

Why? Blaire felt his chest seize up in alarm. Why was Sebastian looking at him in such a nonthreatening way? Jeremy had been piss scared of the horrors that came with the madman but he understood that man – he knew that anger and sadistic glee. This quiet acceptance and –dare he say it – kindness was in its own way madness to Blaire.

“My brother is in hospital, Blaire.” Sebastian spoke quietly, his voice being kept soft and low as he freely gave away this information. And without prompting, Sinclair let the rest of it slip out.

“I need the money to pay for him, to pay for the life support he’s on.” Sebastian’s shoulders sagged slightly and he once again rest his forehead against his hands – a habit Blaire had noticed he would move into when under a great deal of strain.

“He…in the asylum Riley came to find me. But we got into a mess, in the Walrider’s way. H-He tried…” Blaire listened without sympathy as Sinclair drew in a shuddering breath, fighting to keep his voice steady as he dove into a painful memory. “He was protecting me when Walrider got him – his-…he lost his arm. I did what I could, tried to stop the blood but he lost it so quickly. And oh god the _sound_.”

Jeremy winced at the memory of the sound he’d heard when Walrider tore his own flesh apart – Sinclair knew that ungodly noise as well. He had not expected that information to mean as much to him as it did. Just to have someone understand the horror of a simple sound, it helped to ease Blaire’s anxieties somewhat.

“I can’t tell you how far I dragged him. When his legs gave out halfway down the road out of that place, when the shock and blood loss finally set in and he couldn't move…” Sinclair paused, as if imagining what _could_ have happened. “A woman from town, Mary, found us. Drove us both to hospital, kept us safe – saved our lives.”

A dry chuckle slipped out of Sinclair’s throat. “You want to know something? A little fun fact?” Jeremy wanted to decline. “Mary also pointed me in your direction, when you went run about, you took some of her money for the bus. Ha…what was it you told her? A family huh?”

Sebastian lifted his head slightly, a weak smile on his face like he was trying to make light of a situation but couldn’t fully force the expression. Somehow this pathetic version of Sinclair’s smile only agitated Blaire more – far more than his usual sunny smile had in the past.

“Didn’t take you for such a story teller Blaire, or a family man for that matter.” Sinclair continued to muse, trying to enjoy this in what small way he could. Jeremy could only curse his poor luck that he had taken money from one of the only people in the world that would give Sinclair the time of day – his luck wasn’t exactly profitable now days.

“Your brother.” Blaire pointedly ignored Sebastian’s little tangent, moving back to matters that were more important to him. If Riley was the only thing that kept him breathing while in Sebastian’s ‘ _care’_ , then Blaire wanted to know more. “What do the doctors say?”

“That he’ll live.” Sebastian answered flatly – it didn’t sound like he was convinced.

“And you?” Blaire pushed, not bothering to be considerate or sensitive towards Sebastian’s feelings. Fuck this guy’s feelings.

“That I’ll die.” Sebastian was smiling again but it was twisted, a gut wrenchingly sad sort of smile. How was it one man’s smile could get under Blaire’s skin no matter which way it was warped? “If he wakes up I’ll pay the bills and leave him enough to get a life going again – then I’ll die. If he dies I’ll just follow after him I suppose.”

“How fucking pathetic.” Blaire spat the words venomously; the abrupt change in his tone seemed to startle Sebastian a bit. “I’m sitting here with both my legs fucked to high heaven and you’re moaning on about some romanticised version of suicide? Give me a bloody break, you ungrateful little--”

“How am _I_ the ungrateful one?”

“--shit for brains, brat. No wonder Rick couldn’t goddamn stand you – you’re a quitter if ever I set eyes on one. Weak willed little shit, how did you ever work for _me_? Who the fuck hired you in the first place? They had to be blind, completely out of their god damn mind, if they thought hiring you would be any good.”

Sebastian was looking at him with those large, surprised eyes and Jeremy actually smirked. That expression was one he liked – it looked a lot more like the stunned expression a lowly employee should have when being reprimanded. It was a nice little kick of nostalgia to help his attention shift off his legs as the pills slowly went to work numbing the pain.

“You want to throw in the towel, and for what? Because your conscience if giving you grief? Listen up kid, here’s my two cents worth of wisdom to bestow onto your empty fucking head. It doesn’t matter what shit the world throws at you – you’ve got to drag yourself kicking and screaming through it until you’re at the top.”

Sebastian was still just staring at him and frankly it was getting a little bit annoying. Then finally he shifted, a small laugh slipping out of his mouth and this time it sounded more genuine. For once his smile wasn’t bothering Blaire – it was just mirthful enough for his taste and there wasn’t a hint of naivety to it. It looked like Sinclair had grown up a little bit.

“I don’t remember signing up for your lectures Blaire.” Sebastian mused past his chuckling.

“Almost reminds you of the old days eh? When I’d whip your ass into shape.” Jeremy remarked, a smirk on his face as he watched Sebastian’s whole body unwind, like a great deal of tension had been released.

“You mean when you bullied your employees?” Sebastian corrected him with a slight roll of his eyes. “Yes, it does feel a little something like that. The work place may have been easier on us all had you just gotten one friend in there to ease that temper.”

“Trager did just fine.” Jeremy interjected indignantly then continued to correct Sebastian. “I did not need a friend, I merely needed someone that didn’t make me want to gouge their eyes out on a regular basis. Every time one of them would open their mouth to complain I just wanted to _scream_.”

“Were you always having such violent thoughts when talking to your employees?” Sebastian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Would you believe me if I told you I had frequent thoughts of breaking your legs?” Probably not the right choice of fantasy but it wasn’t a lie.

“I would.” Sebastian replied with a small chuckle. “Rather ironic wouldn’t you say?” The glare Sebastian got for that comment was scathing, Jeremy almost felt the force of his anger from his end of the stare. “Yes, right…I shouldn’t make light of that.” Sebastian relented with an apologetic look about him. “I’m sorry.” He added gingerly.

“I heard you the first time Sinclair. I still don’t give a shit.” Blaire was completely within his rights to knock down Sinclair’s apologies – he had broken his goddamn legs with a _hammer_ after all.

“Of course you don’t.” Sinclair muttered with a heavy sigh but Blaire had a feeling that the sigh was more for show than anything else. Then the man was looking at Blaire with a more calculating gaze, trying to make up his mind on something.

“I do want you to tell me one thing.” Sebastian’s tone wasn’t stern or unfriendly but there was a distinctive seriousness to it, like this question meant a lot to him. “Why do you do the things you do? Or I suppose it’d be more accurate to ask why you did the things you did to me. To people like Waylon. I haven’t forgotten that day, it’s the happiest I think I’ve ever seen you, the way you smiled when you decidedly ruined my life.”

Despite the dangerous words there wasn’t a hint of aggression or spite when Sebastian spoke. If anything he just sounded like he was recalling things that happened to someone else – like it was disconnected from him now. _Almost_ like he’d forgiven Blaire for it.

Was it that easy for Sinclair? Jeremy didn’t think so.

If Sebastian had been capable of that sort of forgiveness, Blaire would not currently be strapped to a bed with two broken legs and a lifetime of sleepless nights ahead of him. But if their roles had been reversed, Sinclair wouldn’t even be breathing had Jeremy gotten his hands on him.

But Blaire had to remind himself that he and Sinclair would never truly see eye to eye – they had entirely different worlds and ways at looking at life. To Blaire, Sebastian looked like the one that was worse off – walking the line of right and wrong like it mattered and eventually getting himself hurt while worrying about hurting others. But in Sinclair’s eyes, Jeremy must have been a money hungry monster, and Jeremy had never shied away from that title – it was not incorrect but everything was about perspective.

His whole life was one big knot. Money and grudges had kept him bound tight from the moment he was born.  
But Jeremy didn’t think Sinclair had the ability to comprehend this.

“Back then I always wondered what it’d be like to see you happy, and I was surprised it took essentially killing me to see it. Can’t say the knowledge was worth it.” Letting out a small, amused huff, Sebastian turned his eyes back on Jeremy. “So tell me – why?

“Because I hate you.”

The answer was simple and neither was surprised when Jeremy spoke the words. There was no shouting or great emphasis on the words, it was just as it was. Truth, simple and blunt- a fact.

Sebastian eyed Jeremy for a while longer and then smiled faintly. The expression was familiar to Blaire – it was the smile that meant Sebastian was himself and Jeremy was safe for another day.

Without explaining his actions Sinclair reached over, his hands brushing against the restraints that kept Blaire’s arms bound to the bed. There was a brief pause where even Jeremy found himself holding his breath, simple because it seemed the most natural response. Then Sebastian’s fingers unlocked Blaire’s restraints and as they fell to the bed with a soft thud – Jeremy knew that he wouldn’t be needing to get fed anymore. 

Sebastian sat back by the side of Blaire’s bed and with that ever-present smile he said words that Blaire never would have thought would have pleased him.

“Just like I hate you.”


	9. Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is literally filled to breaking point with…I guess fluff? The closest I’ll ever get to it anyway.  
> It's more just a time jump to fill in the gap between the last chapter and the next chapter.  
> Enjoy Blaire’s potty mouth.

The house was filled with such beautiful sounds now days.

“Gah! _Argh_ \-- You gut fucking--!”

Or just copious amounts of swearing. That was probably more accurate.

“Language.” Sinclair reminded lightly as his fingers persistently pressed against Blaire’s legs, despite the man’s squirming.

“--piece of shit! I’m going to rip your goddamn eyes out—ouch! Fucking, _ow_!”

“Really now Blaire, must you kick up such a fuss _every_ time we do this?” Sinclair sighed the question, irritation leaking into his words as his patient continued to writhe and thrash about. Making progress all but impossible to come by.

Blaire was frequently unruly when it came to checking his leg’s healing process – but they’d been doing this for a little over three weeks now and he was still just as inconsolable as the first round. Sebastian was only eighty percent certain the man was putting it on to irritate him.

The first time they’d had to go through this routine Jeremy had actually punched Sebastian, not that it was entirely unexpected or unwarranted. That was the price he had to pay for giving Blaire his arms back apparently.

Jeremy had seemed pleased with the subsequent bruise and Sebastian let it slide purely because what was one black eye when compared to two broken legs? That and Jeremy had actually apologised for the action – if only to avoid getting something else broken.

Coming up with an excuse for the bruise to Waylon had been a nightmare. Something about a door knob was the end result of his fibbing – his very poor fibbing.

“You try getting your stupid fucking legs reset every damn day!” Jeremy spat at him viciously and Sebastian rolled his eyes, giving Blaire a look one might give a fussing child.

“ _Language_. Besides I’m not resetting them Blaire, I’m only checking your condition. For goodness sake, all these dramatics, you’d think I was cutting them off.”

Despite all his cursing and snarling, Blaire smirked at his captor after that comment. Mostly because he knew that Sinclair didn’t like being reminded of the fact that he might have very well been horrible enough to try and cut off Jeremy’s legs. He’d told him as much during one of their many arguments and it seemed like the therapist still deeply regretted that choice.

“That’s the last time I tell you any of my inner most thoughts.” Sebastian muttered with a long-suffering sigh.

“Wouldn’t so much as spit for your thoughts Sinclair.” Jeremy replied coldly and for his words Blaire got a slight smirk from his captor.

“Alright _fine_.” Sebastian relented, knowing this game fairly well by now, and he was more than content to play it with Jeremy again. “What do you want this time?”

The past three weeks – for lack of a better word – had been good. Better from Blaire’s previous experience anyway. Though in all fairness almost anything was better than his earlier experiences with Sinclair.

Since the removal of his bonds, Jeremy hadn’t been tied up again. His legs made walking impossible and by extension another escape attempt was suicide, but that knowledge didn’t stop Sinclair from applying new measures to keep him in. Boarding up what windows there were, adding new locks and even fixing up the front door so it wasn’t so easy to bust in.

Jeremy was genuinely flattered that Sinclair thought he was still physically able to make another daring escape in his condition.

Additionally Sinclair had brought some more good news for Blaire, that almost dead arm of his was going to be fine. The infections that had briefly threatened the entire limb were finally vanishing with avid cleaning and the application of more meds than even Jeremy was willing to admit.

The cleaning process was not much better than the checking of his legs and Jeremy had plenty to say whenever Sinclair would take him to the bathroom. He absolutely refused to even think of those bathroom trips, needing Sinclair’s help to move was bad enough without the added assistance required for cleaning.

However the results spoke for themselves, the angry red swelling had gone down to almost nothing and there was a distinct lack of pus from most of the wounds now. This also meant the rotting smell no longer bothered either of them.

Horrible, grievous bodily harm aside – Blaire had a few other things to brighten his days in hell. With his arms free constantly now, eating was distinctly less troublesome and it cut out their arguments over every meal.

Sinclair had also started playing a little game with his captive, a simple exercise of give and take. Like right now for example.

“How about some chocolate this time? And none of your commoner, knock off chocolate bullshit – I want the good, so rich it could melt your soul, kind.” Jeremy replied simply, having already gone through a few of his other demands over the past week – chocolate seemed like a good idea right about now.

“You really do not want me to get started on the nonexistence state of your soul Blaire.” If Sinclair rolled his eyes much more they might just pop out of his damn head. If only. “It’s a deal, you’ll get your chocolate, so for Pete’s sake – _stop squirming_.”

Finally Jeremy settled down, his furious swears turning into the occasional hiss and grunt of discomfort. The process was definitely painful but Jeremy had become very intimate with the concept of pain by now. A few minutes went by where Sinclair kept his mouth shut and just did his job checking Blaire over.

A majority of the time Jeremy kept his eyes glued firmly to the bags Sinclair had brought with him today. It was one of the few joys he still had in his life – seeing what little deliveries came with Sebastian’s presence. Sometimes it was boring. Things like more bottled water – which Jeremy noticed were a better quality than the last one Sebastian had brought – and medical supplies.

But on the odd occasion Sebastian would bring him something with a bit more substance to it. Jeremy’s little cell of a room had started to be filled up with more homely items. He got new clothes – which he’d at first refused because Sebastian’s taste was appalling – and Jeremy even got himself a new blanket. Now he was rarely cold and despite the constant aching in his bones the place was getting more comfortable.

“You never did finish telling me the end of that story, Blaire.” Sinclair spoke up as his study of Blaire’s injuries reached its end.

Ah yes, and then there was the secret swapping.

Blaire had at first been reluctant, not seeing the point in sharing anything with Sinclair. But after a while he got so sick of hearing Sebastian’s voice drone on, that he finally contributed to their little chats. Sinclair had this notion that if they talked enough one-day something might just click.

Like one of them would finally be able to see the other’s world with clear eyes and maybe some of the things that troubled Sebastian would be erased.

“The one about you and Trager playing golf.” Sebastian continued as he gradually lifted his hands from Jeremy’s legs, officially finished with his inspection. “Did you win your bet?”

“Of course I fucking won.” Groaning Jeremy let his body fall back onto the bed. Frankly he was insulted that Sebastian even asked such a dumbass question – in what universe did Jeremy Blaire lose a golf game to Rick?

Humming in acknowledgement, Sebastian shifted back onto his own two feet and wandered back over to the goodies he’d brought with him today. Jeremy tried not to make it obvious he was eyeing the bags but if Sebastian saw him Jeremy wasn’t going to look away either.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Usually by this time in the evening Sinclair was already out of Blaire’s hair, off to do god only knows what.

The best fragments Jeremy could string together about his captors activities outside of this shabby prison was that he would visit his brother three times a week, sometimes more and that he had a weekly date to keep at some little place one town over. Something about coffee and healing or some shit.

Other than that it was a mystery to Blaire as to what Sinclair did with his time. If he worked or had friends weren’t things Jeremy knew or really cared to find out. It was purely a matter of knowing your enemy, nothing else.

“Trying to kick me out already?” If Jeremy could kick Sebastian anywhere it’d be off a cliff…into a pit of lava. Sebastian chuckled in amusement as if he could read the somewhat homicidal thoughts flying through Blaire’s head. “Maybe you’ll feel a little more generous after you see what I’ve brought you.”

And oh, Jeremy was feeling pretty damn generous when he did see exactly what Sinclair had brought him. Held up in the man’s scarred hands, Sinclair was clutching a bottle of wine.

Jeremy’s first thoughts were a simple jumbled mess of cheers and swearing, his second wave of thoughts were a little more composed and he even had a complaint or two that he considered making.

“If your taste in wine is as bad as your taste in…well everything else, I’m going to skin you alive.” The words were muttered flatly but Jeremy’s heart beat had picked up. He wanted that bottle more than he was ever willing to admit to Sinclair.

“You make the most obscene threats.” Sinclair was still smiling that pleased fucking smile of his as he brought himself and the beautiful bottle of alcohol over to Jeremy’s bed. He set it down on the table by the bed, next to a plastic cup that was usually used to get pills and water into Blaire – today Jeremy didn’t want to see it filled with anything except red wine.

The rusty springs of the decrepit little bed squealed in complaint when Jeremy tried to sit himself up and his bones were groaning a similar tune. But the rest of him was squashing down those protests, fuelled by the possibility of getting some alcohol into his system again after so long.

“Easy.” Sinclair’s hands were immediately at Jeremy’s assistance, serving to steady his aching body and help him get upright.

Jeremy made a point not to look at Sebastian’s face when he received the assistance – because he knew the man’s face would be twisted in concentrated concern. Jeremy didn’t want to see that expression; it was so sickly sweet and coming from the man responsible for breaking his legs in the first place, it seemed almost insulting.

Insulting and a little bit sad actually. Under his breathing Blaire muttered something along the lines of not taking pride in his own handiwork but Sinclair either missed or ignored those comments.

When they were both safely sure that Blaire wasn’t going to hurt himself, Sinclair finally held up the bottle again. “Do you have to rush everything?” He complained while working the seal off the wine. “You’ll only heal slower if you keep pushing yourself.”

“Unless you’re telling me the year and brand of that wine – shut the fuck up.” And blissfully Sinclair did remain silent. Jeremy’s eyes followed his actions with hawk like eyes, feeling need boiling in his stomach as the seconds trickled on by too slowly.

It felt like a whole year had passed before Sinclair finally poured the first drop of wine into the plastic cup. Blaire had a thousand different complaints to make about drinking wine from a plastic cup but for now it’d have to wait, he could lecture Sebastian on the importance of proper drinking glasses when he had gotten some alcohol back into his blood.

The effort involved in not snatching the offered cup was considerable, but Blaire kept his dignity in tact by not jumping for the drink. He was acutely aware of Sebastian’s eyes on him, boring into the side of his skull as Jeremy tried to ignore him and just enjoy his drink.

At first it worked but then Sebastian’s staring turned to speaking and Jeremy got a little put off.

“I poisoned it.”

Those words very nearly caused Jeremy to choke and he lowered the cup from his mouth in a small jerky motion. Sebastian was still watching him closely but now Jeremy was returning the stare, looking for something in the blonde’s face.

But all he saw was one blind, milky eye ruining a once perfectly good blue set of eyes. Gradually a stray thought wormed its way into Blaire’s head – that cloudy eye belonged to _him_.

As did the burns and blemishes on Sinclair’s body, but it was the internal scars that Jeremy had the most claim to. Jeremy took a moment to marvel in the fact that those parts of Sinclair belonged to him, the person he was now, had been shaped by Jeremy – he owned this version of the blonde male. It was almost like playing god.

Fortunately that warped ownership came with a sense of knowing Sinclair better than most, so he wasn’t worried as he took another drink of the apparently poisoned drink.

“No you didn’t.” Jeremy replied dryly, a smirk curling on his face mirthfully.

Sebastian’s stare lingered before finally he relented with a quiet chuckle. “Not even a little concerned? What is this – trust?”

“On the contrary Sinclair, if I trusted you I would have believed you when you said you poisoned something.” To drive the point home Jeremy downed the rest of the sickly sweet substance. He cringed a little bit, Sinclair’s taste wasn’t god-awful but it was so sweet, not enough straight alcohol in Jeremy’s system to suit his tastes. But not bad enough to warrant that skinning he mentioned earlier.

“And just where did you pick up a sense of humour, eh?” It was very nearly praise when Jeremy thrust the cup out, expecting Sinclair to serve him and for once the blonde did not disappoint. Before long his cup was full again and Jeremy felt a sense of familiarity in drinking and being served. “A dark sense of humour at that.”

“I’d say I picked it up from Trager.” Jeremy’s eyes narrowed fractionally, it was the slightest shift in expression but of course Sebastian picked up on it – attentive little shit that he was.

“I don’t suppose you saw his handiwork?” He didn’t respond beyond taking another gulp of wine. “I stalked you all over that damn asylum, I know you got close to his workshop.”

Jeremy didn’t want to have this conversation, they’d skirted around it multiple times already but Sebastian was a persistent little fucker.

“So you must have seen some parts of his little doctor game, or maybe you saw what was left of him. I certainly did, never thought an elevator could do that to somebody – but the asylum taught us lots of things didn’t it?”

The stony silence left after those words, was broken only by the occasional gulp of wine from Jeremy. Perhaps if he didn’t respond to Sebastian he’d get bored and fuck off – or god forbid maybe he’d get and take a hint for once.

When poking at the more gory parts of Rick’s demise didn’t get a rise out of Jeremy, Sebastian shifted his game a little bit.

“I know you two were close. There’s nothing wrong with being upset Jerem--”

 “ _Fuck_ , you can’t just let a man drink can you?” The angry words tore out of Jeremy’s throat before he could silence them and in the same action he slammed his cup down on the table to glare at Sebastian.

It would have been fine if Sebastian glared back at him but instead the lousy shit only gave Jeremy that forlorn look that crawled under Blaire’s skin in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain. Frustrated by the lack of retaliation in Sebastian and his continued soberness, Jeremy sought to fix both of these problems in one fell swoop.

Snatching the bottle away from Sinclair, Jeremy made a grab for the younger man’s more heavily scarred arm. There was no shortage of surprise between the two of them when Jeremy managed not only to get the bottle from the alarmed Sinclair brother, but also brought him further onto the bed. The stubborn bastard’s grip was just a little too tight and the sudden jerk pulled both Sebastian and the bottle onto the bed.

When the bottle finally came free, Sinclair ended up sprawled on the new bed sheets with that same alarmed expression on his dumb face. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights and the look was one that pleased Jeremy more than he’d say. It was good to gather these little reminders that despite Sebastian’s elevated power status now days – he was still just a stupid kid.

Jeremy could still be stronger, higher – _better_. Sometimes that knowledge slipped his mind between the ropes and threats from Sebastian, but in moments like this Jeremy remembered that there was a time when he had the upper hand, and he wouldn’t mind revisiting that time.

Having two essentially useless legs and one difficult arm, made simple actions hard to carry out and usually Sebastian would help Jeremy with anything and everything. Jeremy fucking despised him for that, for offering him assistance like he was helpless and weak – no matter how much he may have needed it. But right now Sebastian was stunned and Jeremy felt the need to do things on his own flare up again – he wanted to see Sebastian back in the place he’d once been.

Comfortably nestled under Blaire’s boot – where he fucking belonged.

Jeremy could see Sebastian beginning to recover from the shock of the sudden change in pace, he opened his mouth to say something and that was when Jeremy knew _exactly_ what he wanted to do.

Without warning Jeremy jammed the bottle of wine into Sinclair’s mouth, revelling in the look of distress that flashed across the blonde’s face. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one drinking right?” Jeremy sneered, knowing his face was sporting a particularly malicious smirk.

Sebastian’s hand snapped up to grab hold of the bottle, trying to get it away from him but Jeremy wasn’t having any of that nonsense and only pushed the alcoholic drink down further into Sebastian’s throat. He’d drink it or he’d choke on it and Blaire was fine with either outcome.

When his first attempt to get rid of the bottle didn’t work, Sebastian instead grabbed Jeremy’s wrist. If he’d tried to break it or tear Jeremy away from him, Jeremy would not have been surprised. But the grip that Sebastian employed wasn’t particularly rough – it was almost like he was asking to be released rather than demanding it.

Jeremy knew people’s heads could get all fuzzy when they were put in a unusual situation, and he’d seen people freeze up in the heat of a moment. He knew without question that was what had happened to Sebastian and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.

“Just fucking swallow it you bastard.” Jeremy didn't bother to try and stifle his smirk as Sinclair squirmed against the bottles mouth. But it was too late to actually get away, he already had a mouthful of the red liquid and Jeremy was pretty damn sure Sinclair wasn’t going to spit it out. So either he choked right here and drowned in it or he drank the stuff.

Finally there was a distinct swallow when there was too much wine for Sebastian to handle and Jeremy felt a twinge of victory as the younger man began to down the drink. It was a good three or four swallows before Sebastian’s hand began clawing into Jeremy’s wrist, and without needing to think about it – Jeremy released him.

Immediately Sebastian rolled over onto his side, coughing like he intended to hack up his own lungs. As he sat back and watched in amusement, Jeremy could just make out the beginnings of tears budding at the corners of Sinclair’s eyes, the effect of chocking no doubt.

It was only as the younger man tried to force some air back into his lungs that Jeremy reflected on his actions. He’d pulled back when he knew that Sinclair couldn’t take anymore, he hadn’t even thought about it, he’d instinctively freed the man when he could have – _should_ have -let him choke.

Jeremy reasoned with himself that he needed Sebastian alive; killing him wasn’t an option right now. That was the only reason he went easy on his former employee. Nothing more than that.

Then Sebastian was scowling at him and Jeremy laughed. A week ago he might have cringed away or even glared back if he felt brave enough, but he wasn’t scared right then. Sebastian looked more like he was going sulk than try to murder Jeremy – it was good to know he could read the man this well.

“Not much of a drinker, are you kid?” That was definitely a sulking stare if ever Jeremy saw one. A few more coughs later Sebastian spat some angry words back at him.

“Not all of us are obnoxious drunkards that drink away our senses and morality. _Some_ of us don’t like to drink at all.” Translation – he was a lightweight.

“Whatever you say.” Jeremy looked at the bottle, noting with a small, amused chuckle that it still had at least half of the wine left. Now Blaire had never been big on sharing, but he was a fan of making people squirm and it seemed like the delicious bottle of wine would be the perfect tool for that. “You just need a little persuasion.”

Sebastian’s gaze whipped back to him in the same moment that Jeremy reached out to grab the man’s wrist. The snarl Sebastian released was almost impressive but Jeremy just grinned on through it, waving the bottle back and forth tauntingly.

“This is why we can’t have nice things, right?” For once it seemed he and Sebastian agreed on something. “Come on.” Jeremy tried to be convincing as he enticed Sebastian to drink. “Wouldn’t kill you to have a little something to ease your nerves. If you get any more tightly wound you’re going to lock up entirely.”

“So nice to see you worrying about me.” Sebastian spat back venomously and Jeremy’ grin only widened. This was almost fun, the first semblance of fun he’d had in a long time. It looked like he was dancing on every single nerve Sebastian had ever had and it was gratifying as hell.

“Come on, drink.” Jeremy insisted. “Think of it as a way of making up for existing.” Sebastian’s expression became an unamused stare but Jeremy couldn’t be more pleased with the situation.

That is until Sebastian let out a sigh of defeat and gestured for him to hand over the bottle. It turned out Jeremy _could_ be more pleased and now he was positively abuzz with satisfaction. “I don’t need you choking me again, nor am I a child to be fed.”

“Oh, so when you fed me it was okay, but you don’t like it the other way around? No, no, no, you’re gunna just lay there for a minute and behave.” And surprisingly he did. Sebastian didn’t move an inch after Jeremy told him to stay put and the small thrill that ran down Blaire’s spine was addictive and familiar. It was power, complete control and god he had _missed_ it.

It helped that Sebastian’s glower turned to uncertain apprehension and then flat out fear. It wasn’t like it was actually poisoned, but the way Sinclair stared at the bottle it might as well have been. Jeremy took a few good seconds to soak in that look, the feeling that radiated off Sebastian in waves was thrilling. Eventually it seemed like Sebastian wanted to escape in some small way, so he shut his eyes tight and waited.

The tip of the bottle hovered just above Sinclair’s open mouth, ghosting against parted lips as Jeremy dwelled on his choices. It occurred to him as he sat looking down at Sebastian that he might have been able to kill the other if he tried. He was exposed, vulnerable and as usual there was the feeling of artlessness to his defencelessness. It was almost like he trusted Jeremy not to suffocate him or break the bottle over his head.

And for some ungodly reason, Jeremy didn’t do either of those things and instead slipped the bottle into Sebastian’s mouth, enjoying the way Sinclair cringed against the sweetened liquid as it slid down his throat.

“I hate you… _so_ _much_.” Jeremy muttered more to himself than Sebastian, tipping the bottle up a little more to increase the amount of wine Sebastian had to drink. “ _So fucking much_.” Stressing the words, Jeremy noticed Sebastian’s hand twitch upwards like he was going to try and push Jeremy away again. But then it stilled, remaining in place and Jeremy’s anger flared again.

“God damn you!” Hissing the words angrily, Jeremy’s weaker hand latched onto Sebastian’s throat. It was difficult to use this arm still but he knew he could choke Sebastian at least enough to cut off his ability to drink and breathe – that’d be enough.

Sebastian squirming stared anew but it was hardly the struggling Jeremy wanted to see. It wasn’t an effort to defend himself, it was simply a knee-jerk reaction. “Why won’t you fight you asshole?” Jeremy demanded, thumb digging into Sebastian’s throat harshly.

“You want me to kill you that bad? Is that it? I thought you were just talking shit when you were out there sobbing - but you really want to die, don’t you?”

That got a reaction out of Sebastian and abruptly the bottle was gone, knocked away and clattering to the ground with a loud splash as what was left in it came out all over the wooden floor. Great another stain.

Sebastian was up as well, both his hands clutching Blaire’s wrists in an unforgiving grip.

“Ah, thought your little pity party went by unnoticed? Thought you said you were already dead inside Sinclair, those were your _exact_ words weren’t they?” Jeremy was pleased even if his bones were aching under Sebastian’s grasp. There was a reaction he wanted – anger, resentment and maybe even a bit of fear. Jeremy didn’t want to see Sebastian acting like a saint – it crawled under is skin.

Despite his violent reaction, Sebastian seemed to be at a lack of things to say. He just looked at Blaire for entirely too long before getting up and leaving. Jeremy had been surprised; almost irritated that Sebastian had left rather than fought with him.

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d heard someone begging to die; it wasn’t even the first time he’d heard Sinclair screaming those words. However the first time he’d heard pleas for death slip out of the man’s mouth he’d been strapped down with his eyes peeled open forcibly as what was nothing short of torture played out before him.

Lots of patients screamed to be killed during those sessions, they almost had a script for it and Sebastian was no exception. Perhaps the reason Sebastian was at all perturbed by the fact Jeremy heard him sobbing the words was because they weren’t desperate, pain induced screams of hysteria.

Those words had been honest, no added torment needed.

Jeremy had been down in those rooms a lot in the days leading up to the collapse of the asylum. He had a personal stake in that place. He’d gone there to subtly check on Rick and every time he saw less and less of the man that had been his friend and more of the ‘good doctor’ Trager became.

But it wasn’t all-bad, he also got to see a few old nuances going mad. He’d made an effort to check in on David once or twice – who asked to resign three times and still didn’t get the message that Murkoff owned them? Idiots like David apparently.

Jeremy had almost entirely forgotten about Sebastian’s existence the first day he’d heard the familiar voice screaming out their lungs. He’d stumbled upon one of the tests, right in the middle of the damn thing. Of course he’d wanted to take a little peek, look in and see just what became of the thorn in his side.

He was not disappointed.

There was no lack of tears and shrieks coming from the blonde therapist as he was forced to watch a sort of twisted slideshow – one Blaire had been advised against looking at – so instead he watched the man helplessly thrash and pull against the restraints. The uselessness of his pitiful attempts brought a smile onto Jeremy’s face.

No way he’d ever be seeing Sebastian’s annoying smile ever again, instead there’d only be this screaming and gross sobbing.

Then there were the words that slipped out of the trapped man’s mouth in the echo of his sanity. The usual pleas were there, begging for it to stop, asking someone to rip his eyes out had been a particularly amusing plea. But then there were other things mixed into his shrieking and without meaning to – Jeremy learnt more about Sebastian than he ever cared to.

As he stood, back against the wall outside of the testing room, Jeremy could hear the man’s familiar screams echoing around him. It was probably the fourth time he’d listened to this particular procedure that Jeremy noticed patterns in the man’s jumbled words.

The first name he picked up was the man’s older brother’s. He heard Sebastian calling out for Riley a number of times and took a great deal of pleasure in knowing those words would have ruined the older Sinclair’s mind if he were to hear them. Jeremy made a note to record them for Riley one day – pity he never got around to doing it when he had the chance.

Next was a name that Jeremy hadn’t been expecting, but in the same thought, wasn’t surprised to hear. The young blonde man screamed for the Warden. It made sense when Jeremy thought about it. The Warden was the only person in this wretched place with any power that gave so much as a passing thought for the patients. If Sinclair could hope for anyone to help him it was the Warden, but Jeremy knew he couldn’t actually save the man and so even those desperate screams were in vain.

What caught Jeremy’s attention during one of his little visits was the apologies. Sometimes the pathetic sobs were simply a mess of begs for forgiveness or distorted attempts at speaking the word sorry to an unseen entity. But in his less lucid moments Sebastian would apologise to specific people.

To Riley, Sebastian apologised for being a burden – for always needing him to look out for them both. Jeremy had taken those words and subtly inserted them into his next conversation with Riley for satisfying results.

Occasionally Sebastian would apologise to people Jeremy barely knew or people they worked with. Gluskin’s name was in there once or twice, along with every other patient Sinclair had under his jurisdiction and Park popped up multiple times – but most frequently Jeremy heard his own name.

Now Jeremy had heard lots of people grovelling before, heard the same words over and over again in attempts to remain in his favour – but this was a bit different. He’d never actually let Sebastian know he was there, didn’t care much to announce himself, so these words were unprompted and as far as Blaire knew, the kid wasn’t much of a liar.

It was hilarious in a morbid sort of way. Hearing someone he’d thoroughly ruined apologise for imagined slights, Sinclair probably didn’t even know why he was sorry – Jeremy certainly didn’t.

Of course he’d pocketed that information and over time more little titbits came into his possession as Sebastian became more detached from reality – he tended to ramble when he wasn’t even aware that he could still speak.

He’d gush about the most trivial things. Something about his parents having an accident, loosing a sister he could never find again, the fact that he absolutely fucking _loved_ pretzels – all sorts of weird little things.

It had become something of a hobby for Blaire, listening in on these things just to see how broken someone could be. Rick would have called it a study on the human mind or something like that, but in reality it was simply a form of stress relief and entertainment. It was hard to be angry when listening to the screams of people you loathed.

Reflecting on it now, Jeremy decided that he would hold onto those little things he knew to use against Sebastian later. Judging by his reaction to being overheard crying, he would probably break if he knew Jeremy had been able to heard all of his mad ravings. Blaire would have to be careful with this game though, because if he pushed it too far Sebastian might just return the restraints and remove his privileges.

And the next time he returned, Sebastian made a point to not bring any alcohol.  
The first privilege to be removed.

Sebastian had walked into the room on that day and given Jeremy a very pointed glare, one Jeremy smirked back at lazily.

“Next time we decide to drink, I’m going to bring two damn cups.” He announced and Jeremy’s smirk widened. Evidently they were going to become drinking buddies one day and their little truce continued for another day.

“Make sure they’re not fucking plastic next time.”

 

…  
…

 

“You ever going to tell me what your obsession with Gluskin was all about?”

Jeremy threw out the question one morning after Sebastian had brought him breakfast from a little café somewhere in town. All pastries and hot drinks – a pretty good morning if Jeremy was being honest. It was probably another peace offering to keep Jeremy’s bitter complaining at bay.

They were nearing the six-week mark and Jeremy’s legs were getting stronger every day. According to Sinclair they’d need at least another three or four weeks before he could get around with crutches and the wait was killing Blaire. But the pain was manageable and Sinclair hadn’t done anything else to damage his body in that time – Jeremy was starting to resemble a human again.

His skin was beginning to get it’s healthy glow back with every full meal Sinclair brought him, the wounds that had been open gashes were now either scars or scabs beginning to peel off. Overall his life was less like a constant whirlpool of pain and humiliation and more a series of small irritations and constant anger. There was the occasional amusing moments in there was well.

The number of times that Sinclair ended up relinquishing the upper hand to Blaire was increasing and Jeremy didn’t bother to hide his recently renewed ego. But if things got too difficult or Sebastian had even the slightest doubt in Jeremy’s intentions – the tables would almost always flip back and there were a few instances where Sebastian threatened to restrain Blaire again.

Escape was still a far away dream and after last time, Jeremy didn’t particularly feel like giving it another shot. For now Sebastian was his lifeline, a meal ticket and care provider, so running off now didn’t seem ideal. He may have been getting a little _too_ comfortable around here.

“Obsession?” Sinclair straightened up from his work cleaning the dusty surfaces of the room. It was a full time job trying to make this shit hole look liveable – a job that Sebastian took to with an eerie amount of enthusiasm.

“Don’t give me that look like you don’t know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.” Jeremy rolled his eyes and sat up in the bed a bit more. “You were always trying to…do these _things_ for him.” Searching through his memory bank titled ‘stupid shit Sinclair has said and done’ Jeremy pulled out a few examples

“You always asked for weird shit to give him. Pencils and paper was one right? Do you remember how _that_ went?” Sebastian had enough sense to look guilty. “The fucking paperwork was a nightmare, who gives a maniac like Gluskin a sharpened pencil and doesn’t expect to see it jutting out of a doctors eye?”

Privately Jeremy had a little snicker at the memory of the frantic screaming. Apparently the doctor had gotten a little handsy with Gluskin and it wasn’t much appreciated. Well he didn’t need two eyes anyway.

“Or how about those little therapy sessions you did with him.” Jeremy continued relentlessly.

“Oh, You mean my _job_?”  Sarcasm, Jeremy decided, on Sebastian was nearly as appealing as shit on a stick – and just about as clever. Waving him off flippantly Jeremy ignored that weak defence and continued.

“You weren’t doing your job correctly. You’re usually meant to _talk_ to a patient in therapy right?” The tenseness in Sinclair’s shoulders told Blaire all he needed to know. He’d hit the nail on the head “Yeah that’s right, I know exactly what you were really doing in those sessions – fuck all.”

Sebastian didn’t look guilty but he certainly wasn’t happy at being called out, or perhaps it was the fact Jeremy was questioning his methods that irritated the former therapist. “Sometimes people need a moment to breathe. I provided them with that time.”

“Seriously, how did Murkoff hire you when you’re so completely useless?” Groaning Jeremy flopped back down on the fresh bed sheets. He’d complained about the texture of the last set Sebastian had brought him and it no longer surprised Jeremy when his captor would register those small, insignificant complaints and then make a move to rectify them without being asked.

In another life he would have made a good personal assistant. Though it was entirely possible that he would have ended up being strangled by Jeremy simply for existing – the sheer fact Sebastian continued to breath was a point of frustration for the Blaire, but he made do.

“Oh, and I suppose you’re going to tell me how you’d help someone heal?” Okay, the sarcasm was becoming less attractive than shit at this point.

Sitting up abruptly, Jeremy fixed Sinclair with a scathing scowl and jerked his finger towards him violently. “Damn straight I am.” Sebastian was giving him that look again, a raised eye brow with a slight upward twitch of his lips just bordering a condescending smirk. Blaire was pretty sure that Sebastian had actually learnt that expression from him somewhere down the line.

“Let me guess.” Drawling the words Sebastian set down the rag he’d been using to clean and crossed his arms over his chest. Every single inch of his body screamed superiority and Jeremy knew for a _fact_ that he’d learnt that from him. “Shut up, deal with your problems, drink a bottle of tequila or two and then go shout at someone?” In all fairness to the little shit – he wasn’t far off.

“At least I wouldn't coddle them.”

The springs of the bed whined in complaint as Jeremy shifted his position, weary of his legs as he pulled himself upright against the headboard. He needed to be at a higher level to meet Sebastian’s gaze, refusing to literally be looked down on.

“You and the idea of coddling are two things I never want to hear put together ever again.” The mortification in Sebastian’s eyes said it all. “Besides, I didn’t _coddle_ , I was just sympathetic.”

“Oh is _that_ how you remember it? Because I remember you wasting time and definitely _not_ doing your job.”

 

…  
…

 

“Is something the matter? You seem a little more tense than usual.” Sebastian asked cautiously, raising his gaze from the medical and personality profiles in front of him. Of course with every new patient there came a ton of information regarding his or her state of mind. There was nothing particularly peculiar about it, although Sebastian noticed they were rather different files to what he was accustomed to in other facilities. A great deal of attention was put into what the patients were able to dream about and if they could gain a lucid state of dreaming.

Now Sebastian was never one to ignore the importance of dreams when dealing with individuals, more because he believed that people gave their dreams meanings rather than the dream actually holding any weight, it was merely a way to confirm one’s own thoughts – however it seemed like a great deal of focus was being put on what the patients were doing while asleep rather than awake. In a way that suited Sebastian’s tastes, dreams were a fascination of his, or more accurately, people’s experiences and reactions to their own dreams fascinated him.

In front of him a larger, older male sat uncomfortably. Sebastian had seen this before, the beginning was never easy and try as he might, Sebastian knew he’d have to wait it out. No patient was immediately ready to spill their guts to him – that was fine, all good things took time. Sebastian tried to remain optimistic in this regard but this was not _technically_ the beginning, of their time together. He and Mr. Gluskin had been meeting regularly for roughly a fortnight now.

“Mr. Gluskin, these sessions are set up to help you.” Sebastian explained slowly, repeating the familiar words dryly. “Silence is not likely to help us.”

Eddie Gluskin, a man known for his misogynistic tendencies and, oh yes, a string of colourful murders left in his wake. While working in a place for the criminally insane, Sebastian had gradually become familiarized with this sort of backstory. He had been told he was too soft-hearted for this line of work but anyone could see the pitiful man before them could perhaps be salvaged, so Sebastian remained patient and tried not to think about the gruesome things Eddie’s hands had carried out.

Despite himself Sebastian did glance at Mr. Gluskin’s hands. They were large, calloused and even a little bit scarred. They were working hands, the sort that only came about after years of thorough use and abuse. Sebastian’s hands did not mirror Eddie’s at all; they were smooth and small – scarcely a mark on him. Sebastian allowed himself a small sigh, it was difficult to speak with patients like this, people who lived in a whole different world to him, but Sebastian was determined.

“If it’s what you feel is best.” He began slowly, adjusting the glasses on his face. “We don’t need to speak any words.” Mr. Gluskin lifted his head slightly, not quite surprised but at the very least intrigued enough to form a physical response.

Continuing with this train of thought Sebastian slowly pushed Eddie’s files and the photos aside. Eddie’s gaze followed the movement like a hawk, inside those folders were things his own mind denied, images he’d refused and replaced with fabricated stories – a coping mechanism. But somewhere in the back of his mind Eddie knew exactly what he was hiding from and the action of Sinclair pushing them away was symbolic in a sense. A small comfort.

“Life in the asylum must be exhausting.” Sebastian continued, ignoring the way Eddie’s gaze fixed on him next. “Exhausting and solitary. If it is a few minutes of silence you need, a little bit of time to feel safe, you may find it here.” Sebastian spoke gently, smiling faintly. “It is my responsibility to report on your progress, yes. However it is my first priority to see to your mental wellbeing, as such I will provide what little moments of relief I can for you.”

As Sebastian stood from his seat, easily sliding out of his chair while Gluskin remained shackled to the table by heavy cuffs and chains, he reflected in the futile nature of this decision. Mr. Gluskin was stubborn, if he did not spill out delusions or lies to try and appease his overseers then he would remain silent – this small act of kindness would do nothing to sway him and yet Sebastian gave it to him all the same.

In his time at Mount Massive Asylum, Sebastian had come to realise that there was a distinct lack of empathy. Compassion and understanding were difficult to come by and for a patient it was very nearly impossible to even be seen as a human anymore. Sebastian knew it would not change anything, but he still offered the patients a sense of humanity, a feeling of value, wherever he could.

“I will tell the Warden I am done for the day.” Sebastian head towards the door, glad for the lack of guards in this particular session. It had taken him weeks to convince them it only upset the patients and even longer to convince Mr. Blaire that he could preform better with the guards outside. “When our usual time is up you’ll have to return to your room.” Sebastian could have laughed at the use of the word ‘ _room’_ , it was a cell and nothing less than that.

When Eddie did not immediately stop him, Sebastian reached for the door, figuring he’d be able to request some tea from the guards. Pretend they were getting a lot done while settling down to run over some other patient files.

“Don’t.” Sebastian paused, shocked when he recognised that it was Eddie speaking. It was only then that he realised this was the first time he’d ever heard the male speak directly to him. “I don’t want to go back to that place.” Gradually Sebastian stepped back away from the door.

Eddie had not looked up from the table, his hands still tightly clasped and head bowed, but he was speaking. That alone was worth some sort of celebration. Smiling faintly to himself Sebastian returned to his seat opposite Eddie. “Take all the time you need.” He spoke in that same soft tone. Being spoken to with gentle words rather than snarls and thinly veiled spite seemed to appeal to most of his patients.

The Warden had always treated the patients kindly and in return they seemed to gradually open up to them. Sebastian merely followed that example and slowly he found that they even began to speak honestly with him on the rare occasion. The twins enjoyed running verbal circles around him with their little back and forth game, while patients such as Chris Walker were – when calm – able to hold civilised conversation.

As the therapists back hit the chair and he once again rest his elbows on the metal table between them, he smiled warmly. He and Eddie did not speak again during that session. He was tense and would occasionally fidget, but ultimately Eddie left that session calmer and more at ease than he’d been in weeks. Half an hour of silence without the fear of being carted off for more dream therapy or ridicule could do wonders for an injured mind. Sebastian thought it was just what Gluskin needed.

And as the minutes tickled away, Sebastian felt happy. They were criminals, they were insane – but they were still human and Sebastian thought even the most heinous mind could be saved given enough time and care. One day he hoped Gluskin would return to his proper state of mind and perhaps, when the time was right, he’d be able to visit the graves of those he’d wronged and properly apologise.

It was a farfetched dream – but it was the dream Sebastian held for each and every patient that passed through his care.

In the end it was impossible, that dream died with the asylum.

 

…  
…

 

“It’s all a matter of perspective.” Sinclair reasoned calmly. “What you see as wasting time, I see as progress.”

“And what good did it do for him in the end, hm?” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on Jeremy and despite knowing this was a sore subject for his captor, Blaire didn’t relent. “Ended up like everyone else didn’t he? A raving fucking lunatic. Heard he was stringing up his ‘brides’ in the gymnasium like some freaky museum.”

There was no sense of regret or guilt in Blaire when he saw the pained expression Sinclair made. “I had hoped for better.” Sebastian muttered quietly, pressing a hand against his mouth with his eyebrows furrowed. He looked truly crushed and Jeremy didn’t feel anything besides a vague sense of victory.

“There was never any hope for him.” Jeremy was genuinely surprised by his own tone. It was neither gloating or mocking – it was simply facts coming out of him. “Murkoff wasn’t running the asylum to make people better, he was doomed from the second he set foot in the place – hardly your fault. Nothing you could have done about it.”

As his shoulders lifted up in a shrug, Jeremy noticed Sebastian eyeing him with a perplexed look about him. Studying him like he was some bizarre creature he’d never seen before.

“What?” Jeremy snarled when the stare lingered too long for his liking. “Something fucking interesting over here kid?”

“Well, no not really.” That baffled look lingered on Sebastian’s face a few seconds longer. “It’s just that…well that almost sounded like you were trying to--”

He didn’t get to finish that thought as his tiny, pathetic little flip phone buzzed into life. Forgetting whatever thought he’d been having, Sebastian answered it in a heartbeat – his tone flipping to a friendly one as he dove into a conversation with someone on the other end. Something about that weekly coffee meeting again.

Blaire on the other hand was left to fill in the blanks that Sebastian left out in his murmurings. It had almost sounded like he was trying to _what_? Jeremy wasn't trying to do anything, he was just speaking – that was all there was to it.

But when he played the words back over in his head Jeremy found himself a little uneasy with what he’d actually said. If he’d spoken spitefully or with a taunt on his tongue it would have been fine – but without those things the words ‘ _nothing you could have done about it’_ sounded deceptively consoling.

 

…  
…

 

“Oh my god. You absolute waste of fucking space!” Jeremy’s furious voice rung out in the otherwise silent house. “Can’t you get one god damn thing right? You little shit, disgusting, fuckin—mph!”

“For heaven’s sake watch your _language_!” Sebastian groaned out in frustration, his hand jammed up against Blaire’s mouth to muffle the foul words he was spitting. “Take it easy. You’re not superman you know.”

It was their ninth week into Blaire’s healing and he was trying to get the hang of walking again. That of course ended up leading to the profanities flying from Blaire’s mouth when it didn’t go perfectly the first time around.

The crutches that Sinclair had brought him were propped up against the bed and Jeremy absolutely refused to grab for them as he tried to get his weak legs to obey his demands. All the while being forced to listen to Sebastian’s annoying fucking dialog trying to be the voice of reason.

“You’re out of practice.” Sebastian reasoned. “Your legs haven't been in use for over two months, your muscles are basically jelly right now. You need to take it slow and get your balance back. Key word being _slow_.”

“Have you ever been confined to a bed for two fucking months?” Blaire spat the moment Sinclair released his mouth and Sebastian groaned at his poor choice in letting him speak again. “I don’t god damn think so!”

“Alright, alright – just calm down.” Sebastian tried to placate his former boss before the swearing turned into attempted punches and those turned into Blaire hurting himself. But the other wasn't making it easy, his enthusiasm might have been nice but this was a bit much for Sinclair to handle.

Keeping Jeremy propped up with his shoulder and back, Sinclair struggled to help the man find his balance while Jeremy would occasionally shove his hand into Sinclair’s face or mess up his hair. Constantly Sebastian had to remind himself that this was probably difficult for Blaire and he just had to be patient with him. But there was only so much hair pulling and face mashing one man could take.

“Right!” Sebastian announced finally, his patience finally running it course. In an instant his supporting weight was gone and Jeremy teetered on wobbly legs without Sebastian there to help him. To his credit Jeremy made a single solid step before he fell ungracefully to the floor.

Snarling a string of colourful words, Jeremy slammed his fist against the hardwood floor and if his legs had been stronger Sebastian was certain he’d be kicking them in frustration. “Throwing a tantrum never got anyone anywhere.” If looks could kill Sebastian would already be rotting away somewhere ten feet under.

Unfazed by Jeremy’s stink eye, Sebastian knelt down to where the man had fallen and offered his hand. In the pat Jeremy would have slapped it away but recently they’d decided stubbornness would only hinder them and so he reluctantly reached for the offered palm, only to have it pulled away from him at the last moment.

“Slowly.” Sinclair reminded him chidingly before reaching out to take Jeremy’s outstretched hand and help him up onto unsteady feet.

This time rather than allowing his whole body to support Blaire, Sebastian stayed a bit back, helping Jeremy to find his balance by holding his arms. It ended up working a bit better than before, Jeremy needed a little less assistance to feel competent but still needed a crutch, so Sebastian’s little bit of distance ended up doing wonders.

Half an hour later they’d managed to get Jeremy walking around the room with Sebastian’s help and then a little more on his own. When Sebastian noticed that Jeremy was beginning to sweat with the effort of moving legs that had been accustomed to immobility for so long – he decided to call it quits for the day.

And of course Jeremy had things to say about that.

“What?” He seethed when Sebastian began to lead him back over to the bed. “No fucking way! I’m not stopping now.”

“You can’t force your legs to get better by straining them Blaire.” No matter how reasonable he tried to be, Jeremy was determined. That made for a good trait in the business world but here it only hindered his health. “Taking a break is not the same as quitting you know. Asking for help is not the same as being weak, so could you just try to calm down?”

What surprised Sebastian the most wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t swear at him immediately, or the silence that followed – but rather the fact Jeremy actually sat back down on the bed.

“What the hell would you know about it kid? All you’ve ever done your whole life is ask for help and give up on things.” Sebastian’s expression softened into an almost sad look. Jeremy wasn’t spitting the words at him, instead he muttered them tiredly. “Must have been easy for you huh?”

“You know that’s not true.” Sebastian ran his fingers through his hair slowly, trying to think of what to say.

They often came to this stage. Blaire and Sebastian were very different people. Despite how hard Sebastian had tried to find some common ground, something he could use to follow Waylon’s advise and understand Blaire rather than fight him – they were only finding more differences.

Sebastian had changed sure, he’d changed into someone that more closely resembled Blaire but they still lacked the fundamental understanding.

“I suppose that’s just the way it has to be.” Sebastian muttered out loud, hardly aware that he was speaking his own thoughts. “Never thought I’d meet someone I couldn’t empathise with.”

Jeremy sat, eyes glued to his still unstable legs. He didn’t care to understand people like Sinclair who always seemed so certain there was something good about the world, or men like Park who didn’t know anything beyond morality. People that were pigeon holed as being ‘good’ were beyond his understanding and care.

But after a few seconds of staring at his legs, Jeremy had a stray thought.

“Tell me again Sinclair.” He began, voice low but not yet dipping into an unfriendly growl. “Remind me that you hate me.”

“You need reassurance?” He could hear the disbelieving smirk in Sebastian’s voice and even Jeremy had to admit that asking someone to reaffirm the fact that they loathed you was a little odd.

Still he chuckled and glanced up to meet Sebastian’s mismatched eyes, his own perfectly functional gaze lingering on Sebastian’s blind white eye. His handiwork, the things that would remain with Sebastian forever, the things he couldn’t be washed clean of – those belonged to Jeremy.

Then his eyes slipped down to his own body. The scars that lingered on his arms where the flesh had been torn apart and painstakingly stitched back together. The places Sinclair had mended for hours and agonised over when Jeremy would scream in pain, the things that Jeremy would carry on his body till the day he died – those belonged to Sebastian.

The younger man had followed his gaze, no doubt making similar connections in his mind. This prompted him to speak. “Even in scars we’re not even remotely alike are we?” It was true, Sinclair’s wounds were done purposefully with nothing but loathing to fuel their creation. But Blaire’s were mixed; attempts at healing and the history of someone putting his pieces back together were left scattered across his flesh.

“No. I guess not.” Blaire agreed idly, eyes following the path of scars left on his healing body. Contradictions to the things they said and did. Sebastian needed to remind Blaire that he was hated frequently or he might just forget it.

So just like always Blaire reminded Sinclair of his true feelings, “I hate you.” and waited for the echoing reply.

He was not given the satisfaction.

“I’ll be back tomorrow and we can try getting you on your feet again.” That was all he got, and then Sebastian was gone. With that a part of Blaire’s new reality crumbled.

He liked constants, the knowledge that no matter how horrible things got, how painful or monstrous the actions he took became – he was always able to rely on certain elements of life. The fact that Sinclair hated him had been one of those constants and without even trying Sebastian had torn it apart with his own words.

Jeremy took a moment to marvel at how easily and seemingly obliviously Sebastian could hurt him. Without even trying Sebastian was able to take things Jeremy held dear and tear them to shreds. It was power and the moron didn’t even know he had it.

Frustrated Jeremy jerked himself off the bed and began to try walking without Sebastian’s help. The number of times he stumbled was long past the point of humiliating but he refused to be like Sinclair. Taking it easy, relying on others, giving up – he just wouldn’t goddamn do it.

He was just beginning to get the hang of it after a solid hour of practice, so of course he ended up falling just when his confidence had returned. The splitting pain in his head dwarfed the dull aching in his legs when Jeremy smashed his temple against the bedside table.

His body’s reaction was immediate, the second Blaire felt the impact his world began to swim in and out of focus. Twisting and dulling until eventually everything vanished, he was unconscious moments before his body his the ground.

By the time Blaire began to come around again, he knew that he was going to be paying for his stubbornness for at least a day or so. The splitting headache that greeted him as his eyes fluttered open was a sort of hell he hadn’t experienced in a while. To make matters worse he knew that all the really strong painkillers were gone, Sebastian had been downing his dosage and weaning him off the heavy meds for a while now – so over the counter painkillers was going to be the best he could get.

“Jeremy!” Strange, he couldn’t remember having anyone call him by his first name in a while. “Jeremy, hey, can you hear me?” They sounded worried, it was annoying – their fucking voice was grating on his headache.

“Oh mi’ gawd.” His words slurred together in an undignified garble. “Shut… _up_.”

The person calling his name let out a little relieved chuckle and Jeremy felt that same person easing him upright despite his groaning in protest. “Easy.” They spoke to him soothingly. “Took a bit of a tumble.”

As Jeremy’s head cleared a bit, focusing the sharp pain of his splitting skull, he registered a familiar face to put with the voice.

“Sinclair?” His voice was scratchy as he hissed out the younger man’s name. “What…the hell are you doing back so early?”

“If by early you mean tomorrow, then yes I am early.” Oh. So he’d been out cold for a whole night? Figures.

Groaning low in his throat, Jeremy covered his eyes trying to block out the ungodly light of the sun, it was too bright and everything was too loud. He had the headache of a hangover and none of the alcohol to make it worth the agony.

“You stubborn bastard.” Sinclair was saying something to him as he began to man handle him. Usually Jeremy would snarl complaints and protests. But he had a good idea of what Sinclair was doing and when he was deposited on the familiar bed, Jeremy was relieved.

“Shut up, shut up, a million fucking times, _shut up_!” And the bastard had the poor manners to laugh at Jeremy’s furious words.

“I guess we’ll have to reschedule that walking lesson.” Sebastian mused even as he pulled the blinds shut and went to find something to help dull Jeremy’s aching brain. By the time he came back with a cup of water and some wonderful new white pills – Blaire was already muttering furiously to himself.

“—perfect saintly fucking bastard.” Pausing Sebastian smiled faintly, listening to Blaire’s complaints with an indulgent sigh. A happy Blaire was difficult but a sore one was impossible.

“I told you before – accepting help isn’t a sign of weakness.” All he got in response to those words was a low, incoherent grumble of swears from Jeremy.

“Would you prefer I _not_ help you out with that headache?” There was that familiar glare of his, peeking out from under folded arms. Sebastian resisted the urge to laugh and instead offered Jeremy the pills. It was equally as difficult not to let the words ‘I told you so’ slip by his lips.

Barely a second passed between the offer being extended and Jeremy snatching both items away from Sebastian. As he wolfed them down, Sinclair chuckled and muttered.

“I think I found something you and I can understand about one another.” Blaire paused in gulping down the pills to eye Sinclair suspiciously. The blonde man only grinned. “We both really, _really_ hate being hurt. Neither of us like pain very much.”

“Must be why I hate you so much.” Jeremy retorted flatly and Sebastian’s smirk twitched upwards. “You’re nothing but a pain in my side.”

“Must be.” He agreed distantly. “Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? 9 weeks in this chapter…chapter 9…get it?  
> Screw you, I’m still funny


	10. Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my friend suggested I make the chapters shorter and try to get them out faster - so let's try that.  
> The next chapter should have something more interesting in it...you know, something vaguely Waylon shaped.

Sebastian had been making breakfast when his phone cried out annoyingly in the early morning hours.

Idly Jeremy turned to look at the young man as he clumsily fumbled with the cruddy little device and not for the first time, Jeremy scrutinized the other with his eyes simply for having such an outdated piece of equipment. It didn’t help Jeremy’s mood when the man turned his attention away from preparing his old boss’s food in favor of the conversation going on over the phone.

Reluctantly Jeremy remained silent while Sebastian made the customary greetings over the phone – talking in that annoyingly jovial tone of his.

He sounded positively _thrilled,_ like the person on the other end was his sunshine. If Jeremy had not decided the man was incapable of holding down a girlfriend he would have been inclined to think that was who he was speaking with.

A quick reminding glance at the man’s mutilated face helped to erase that possibility from Jeremy’s mind. No one had been about to jump up and grab the bastard when he was still had vaguely passable looks, they sure as hell weren’t going to take Sebastian now that he was covered in those burns. Courtesy of Blaire.

Instead than snapping at Sinclair to focus on what was important, Jeremy marveled at the domestic nature of his current living arrangements.

Sinclair still helped him with most things and Jeremy was yet to find – and attempt to look for – an escape route. In place of escape attempts and arguments, the two of them had settled into an almost doll house like arrangement.

Sebastian made Jeremy food and kept the place clean while Jeremy got used to walking on crutches and his own two legs again. He’d finally mastered the strength he needed to move around the house with ease, now he ate food at the cracked dinning table as opposed to his bed.

In his small runs around the grimy little place Jeremy found that Sinclair had subtly been upping the security over the past few days. The windows had more boards over them than Jeremy first remembered and really, the amount of locks on the door was becoming ridiculous.

“Might as well just get security cameras while you’re at it.” Jeremy quipped one morning when Sebastian was busying himself with locking the final deadbolt on the door.

The look of genuine surprise from Sinclair had initially thrown Blaire. He hadn’t expected the man to be of innocent intentions. Then the man haphazardly tossed the fabric bag he’d brought that day over his shoulder and fixed Jeremy with a sardonic stare. He’d become rather good at those in recent days.

“Nice to see you up and about.” Was his first comment, taking note of Blaire’s position at the bottom of the stairs and the crutches he had propped up against his shoulder. “Meeting me at the door now?”

Forcing himself to turn a blind eye to the obvious bait placed before him, Jeremy remained silent and kept his glare sharp on Sinclair.  
As always Sinclair decided he had to fill the empty air with his own voice. It made it easy for Jeremy to get answers out of him through the means of silence.

“The locks are more for outsiders.” He explained flippantly. “Keeping gawkers out is more important than keeping you in anyway. After all, I can always find you.”

The conversation had ended there, attention quickly being shifted to the usual routine. Food, condition check and whatever complaints Blaire had complied from the night before. Anything to move past the none too subtle threat in Sinclair’s words – even if it wasn’t intentional, that last part had sent shivers crawling up Jeremy’s spine. 

But the topic never fully slipped from Jeremy’s thoughts. Sinclair seemed to be increasingly on edge, sounds that Jeremy passed off as wildlife made him jump and he wasn’t so great at beings subtle when he’d check out the windows, through the gaps in the wood planks.

Whatever had Sebastian spooked should have had Jeremy on his toes as well, and goddamn the man, it did. Blaire found himself becoming acutely aware of the sounds at night when Sebastian was gone. Things like monsters and creatures lurking in the dark were children’s fears – the only thing Blaire truly had to fear was other humans.

He’d often reasoned that the true monsters of the world were people. People like himself who would step on others for financial gain, people like Rick who could wrap others up in words and strip them of dignity without so much as lifting a finger. There were real horrors out there, and Jeremy always thought the worst of them wore suits and gracious smiles.

Of course after having almost been killed by real boogiemen like Walrider and freaks like Gluskin – Jeremy did now also have a new found appreciation for the things that go bump in the night.

It didn’t take long for Sinclair to spill the beans.

He’d reluctantly told Jeremy one evening over a cup of tea that Murkoff had been showing up again. According to Sebastian’s recount of things, they’d been quiet for a while now, trying to salvage what they could of a situation that could lead them up to their necks in lawsuits and angry mobs.

But something had changed and now Sebastian looked about ready to haul himself and Blaire across countries – probably would have to if everything he knew wasn’t between this little shack and that coffee shop he always went to. His brother’s hospital bed wouldn’t be so easy to move overseas and Blaire’s wanted status with Murkoff wasn’t doing them any favors when it came to transportation.

So begrudgingly they stayed put.

Jeremy’s stomach growled, demanding to be acknowledged and breaking him away from his thoughts. Irritation seeped into Jeremy’s very bones as his eyes narrowed on Sebastian’s back – the idiot was still on the phone and Jeremy’s food was _still_ not in front of him.

The thought of banging his fist on the table briefly made an appearance in Jeremy’s mind but it was discarded quickly – far too childish. Throwing something at Sinclair also seemed appealing but Jeremy was at a lack of things to toss and throwing his crutches would leave him in an awkward position.

Out of viable options Jeremy settled himself back into his seat with a discontent grumble and arms crossed as he tried to be patient.

When he was still with Murkoff Jeremy had frequently extended conversations over the phone when someone was waiting for him in his office. The time that was spent being ignored usually made the lower employees uncomfortable and reminded them of just how insignificant they were. Having the situation reversed wasn’t exactly thrilling.

“No, no. It’s alright, don’t think anything of it.” Sebastian’s polite chuckle carried over to Jeremy, making his nerves practically shrivel up and die.

The bastard sounded so cheerful when he was speaking to anyone that _wasn’t_ Jeremy.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Sebastian had become a two-faced person. His sneers and spiteful glares belonged solely to Jeremy, all his sweet words and kind smiles were reserved for those without the last name Blaire.

And quietly, Jeremy enjoyed that fact. Smirking faintly he watched Sinclair go about his little act, privately relishing in the knowledge that the innocent kid finally had an edge to him that Jeremy could put his thumb on.

Sinclair was pacing while on the phone, unable to stay still as he chatted to the person on the other end jovially. During one of his many turns, his eye caught Jeremy watching and the older man’s satisfied expression didn’t go unnoticed.

Silently Sinclair tossed him a dirty look but he kept his voice even and friendly. The contrast only gave Blaire more reason to sneer at him. He’d give the kid points for control if nothing else. 

“Oh?” He was addressing the person on the phone but his eyes remained fixed firmly on Jeremy – it almost felt like some sort of challenge had been issued.

“That’s good news, did you…” Slowly Sebastian eased himself back against the kitchen counter, a small smirk on his face. He was gloating, he knew Jeremy was watching his two-face routine and he probably also knew that Jeremy was god damn starving. Cheeky little shit.

“No, no, not yet.” A pause. “I know.” Sebastian sighed and the other person’s voice distantly buzzed in the background. “I promise, I’ll look for one soon. Not all of us have a skill set like yours to fall back on.” Laughing in a friendly way, Sebastian’s gaze briefly flicked away from Jeremy.

His expression softening as his eyes slipped down to the ground. “Look after yourself, okay?” Whatever the other person said has Sebastian smiling brightly. “Always do.” Then he hung up and Jeremy was already opening his mouth to toss out an insult.

“Don’t start.” Jeremy obliged, but only because the expression on Sebastian’s face was enough to appease him for the time being. “Just be quiet and I’ll get your breakfast.” The mirthful glee behind the smirk on Jeremy’s face was not taken away from in the slightest, even when he shook his head with a sigh.

Again Jeremy obliged because it suited him. Leaning back in his seat, Blaire occupied himself with staring up at the ceiling and running over some of his old ideas. He’d taken to the act of sorting his thoughts like paperwork now days. With so much time on his hands there was little else to do.

However whenever he’d do this there was one little thought that would frequently make itself known and refuse to leave when Blaire tried to dismiss it.

“Sinclair.” Jeremy began slowly, keeping his voice guarded. The subsequent hum of acknowledgement from the kitchen was enough for Jeremy to continue. “Exactly when are we going to--”

He couldn’t say if it was a blessing or curse when Sebastian’s phone rang again, cutting off Jeremy’s words before he could get to the point. 

Sebastian muttered something that sounded like a curse as he made to answer the phone, juggling Jeremy’s food and the little device – poor bastard couldn’t multitask as well as he thought. 

“Popular this morning aren’t we?” Jeremy jeered as the blonde man managed to get the phone open and press the answer button. But not before flipping Jeremy off in response to his teasing – sophisticated as always.

“Hello? Yes, this is Sebastian Sinclair.” At least this time the man sounded more formal than pleased, so perhaps it wasn’t a number he knew and more importantly he didn’t stop making Jeremy’s breakfast while on the phone.

Tuning out Sebastian’s voice, Jeremy idly scratched the surface of the table and wondered if he really did want to open that can of worms he’d been about it.

‘ _Exactly when are we going to do this exchange_?’ Those were the words he’d wanted to speak but the implications behind them still made Jeremy uncomfortable. The purpose Sebastian had him here was so that eventually he could cough up some money, supposedly when he was well and safe enough to do so.

But once that was done, Jeremy was at a loss for what came next. He once assumed that Sinclair would kill him, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore – so what? He’d just let him go and they’d go their separate ways?

That didn’t sound right either.

Even if they did just part ways, what would Jeremy do? If Sebastian robbed him blind then he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, or at the very least things would be difficult to get together. He wouldn’t be on a yacht with a whisky in hand is what Jeremy was getting at.

Yes, that was definitely a can of worms he didn’t want to open today. So for now the phone call would be a blessing.

Just as Jeremy relaxed, having made up his mind, he was startled by a loud crash from the kitchen. The sound of a ceramic plate shattering on the floor shook Jeremy’s eardrums painfully and made him acutely aware of just how quiet it was afterwards.

“Sinclair?” Jeremy called the other’s name cautiously, sitting upright in his seat to peer into the kitchen where the man stood, both hands on the phone and shards of the previously intact plate around his feet.

The expression on the man’s face caused Jeremy to tense wearily. His eyes were peeled wide, knuckles pulled white around the phone with his mouth stupidly hanging open.

“I-I…” Sinclair took a shuddering breath, one hand running over his face and through his hair anxiously as he tried to find the words to say. “I…”

Jeremy had to bite back a comment about the idiot knowing more words than ‘ _I_ ’. It was a difficult task but he couldn't recall seeing Sinclair this shaken before and the last time the man had reacted in a way Jeremy didn’t know how to handle – he’d gotten both his legs broke. Silence might just be a saving grace right now.

“No! I mean yes…I… _god_.” Sinclair raked his nails through his hair again, now jittery as he listened to the person on the other end speak. From what Jeremy could hear the person was speaking slowly, explaining something in a steady voice.

“How-- I mean is he…?”

It was then Jeremy’s heart stilled in his chest. His mind rapidly made the connections, Sinclair’s formality and sudden dramatic change in behavior – it was the hospital.

What drove Jeremy to get out of his seat was nothing short of logic – he needed to be in a less vulnerable position if things went to shit. Slowly he eased out of the creaky wooden chair, keeping a close eye on Sinclair’s expression should it suddenly shift and Jeremy needed to bolt for it. Where he’d go and how he’d go about getting there were details he’d round back to when the time came.

Despite Jeremy’s logic telling him to be prepared for the worst because Sebastian was still a crazy fucking bastard, there wasn’t any real sense of fear. Looking at Sinclair, Jeremy didn’t get the feeling the man was going to break him as opposed to break himself. Wouldn’t that just light up his day.

Sinclair’s eyes weren’t on him, instead they were hidden away under his hand as he took a few slow, deep breaths like it was difficult to even breathe.

“Yes… I understand. Can I…will I be able to see him?” Whatever the answer to that question was had Sebastian sinking down against the kitchen bench; hand still securely over his face. It took Jeremy a few seconds to realize that Sebastian was crying, he even heard the point where his breathing broke away into quiet heaves.

For a few seconds Sinclair didn’t speak and from where Jeremy stood he could hear the quiet hum of the other person speaking. It retained that slow, informative tone that Blaire interpreted as some sort of explanation. Whatever they were saying, Sebastian was listening intently; it looked like he was trying to keep himself from so much as breathing while they spoke. Then abruptly it was over.

“Thank you.” It was so quiet that Jeremy almost missed it, then the phone slipped out of Sebastian’s hand to join the broken plate on the ground.

Sebastian might have very well joined those things on the ground had he not braced himself against the bench. The breathing he’d been holding back now came out in short ragged puffs and Jeremy could definitely hear him crying now.

It was one of those bizarre moments in life when Blaire was genuinely at a loss for what to do. The urge to laugh or simply stand back and observe the other’s obvious suffering with self-gratification in mind was appealing but he’d only just gotten his legs back and didn’t fancy another round with Sebastian’s hammer.

On the other hand there was the nagging little thought in the back of Jeremy’s head that suggested he get closer. Sucking up to superiors was something he’d learnt to value as a kid and in any situation where someone had the ability to break every bone in your body – they were definitely the boss. So it was only logical that Blaire try to get on Sinclair’s good side – but the thought was so positively revolting that even with all his reasoning Blaire couldn’t force himself to do it.

So he was stuck. Left standing rooted in place, watching Sinclair sob into his hands.

After what felt like an eternity, Jeremy let out a little sigh. His captor ended up being surprisingly high maintenance now days. In living memory Jeremy had never been in a situation that required he deal with a crying person outside of pushing their weepy ass out of his office or gloating in their face. Left with neither of the usual choices, Jeremy had to dig deep into his limited knowledge on what the lower class did in such situations. 

Then he found a small gem he hadn’t realized he had, and it came from _Park_ no less.

 

…  
…

 

Back in the asylum not long after he’d had his small victory over Sinclair and had the man sent to the lower levels, Blaire had caught a glimpse of the effect it had on Riley.

The man was stoic and professional when under Jeremy’s delighted gaze, though occasionally he’d itch and twitch like he could feel the predatory vibe Blaire was practically glowing with whenever they did business. Riley must have been able to see it in the way Blaire followed him with his eyes, must have known somewhere in the back of his mind that Blaire was _waiting_ for something.

It hadn’t taken him long to get worried over Sebastian’s absence and Blaire hadn’t ended up waiting long at all.

 Riley’s words became tight when he reported to Blaire, fingers ever in motion as he fiddled with everything from his tie down to the files he would hand over to Blaire. His eyes were probably the best part, the way they’d shift constantly and periodically widen and fill with dread – Jeremy would have paid good money to have access to his train of thought in those moments.

Not that it was difficult to guess. The sudden disappearance of his brother must have gotten the man into a fit of panic, one he barely covered up with an air of formality.

It had gotten to the point where he finally let it slip. A tiny little question that Blaire remembered waiting for excitedly for three whole days after Sebastian was moved into the patient ward.

“Sir?” His voice had been impossibly small and it was one of the only times Blaire had heard Riley speak when he was not called on. It sent a small spark of delight down his spine, but of course Jeremy didn’t so much as look at the hired muscle when he acknowledged the question in a wordless hum.

“My brother’s schedule – has it been changed?” He could appreciate the careful phrasing of his question. Rather than clumsily blurting out something like ‘ _have you seen_?’ or ‘ _where is my brother_?’, the guard kept his job first and foremost on his tongue. Making it all about work – clever little bastard.

Jeremy had wanted so badly to laugh, to throw every bit of knowledge he had in the man’s face but that would be a quick, short-lived delight, and so he remained passive and disinterested when he answered. 

“Hardly my area of concern, that’s the business of lower administration managers.” Riley had twitched. Holding himself a little straighter, a little tighter and Jeremy bit back down a malicious sneer. 

“However…” Jeremy relented leisurely. “There have been some changes in the day and night shifts – we’ve been having some trouble filling in the gaps left behind by the recent loss in staff. Double shifts have become common, at least for the time being.” He continued lazily, offering the man false hope that maybe his little brother was just busy, unable to see him due to his new work times.

The small look of relief on Riley’s face had been enough to make Blaire’s day. Knowing that it would sting that much more when the man realized that all his deeds – all those horrible things Blaire had him doing – were in vain.

He dearly hoped the younger man would try to kill him; he wanted to see that furious expression on Riley’s face almost as much as he wanted to see him break down and scream through tears. Either would be a wondrous sight, one for another day.

What he had not expected to see was Riley comforting Park mere hours after that conversation. It was one of those truly fortunate times that Jeremy stumbled across a scene rather than sought it out.

He’d been heading down to the hospital wing to make some formal ‘complaints’ about the productivity of the lucid dreaming program when he’d almost walked straight past them. It was only the familiar sound of desperation that caught his attention. 

“It’s been three days.” It didn’t take Jeremy long to recognize Park’s sniveling voice, he sounded whinier than usual. “Three days and no one has seen him! I mean, sure, yeah, okay – I don’t talk to many people but…but _still_.”

“I know.” Riley’s considerably calmer voice came next and Jeremy’s lips twitched up into a smirk. “I’m certain everything is alright. I…I am sure of it.”

“Oh god, what if it’s my fault? What if I got him in trouble? You weren’t there Riley, you didn’t hear it.” Park lamented and Jeremy thought back to what he guessed Park could be referring to. During their last little chat, the lowly tech head had the audacity to complain to him, he’d let slip some information about Sinclair and the conversations they shared on the patients.

Park had even uttered those filthy fucking words ‘ _they’re just people_.’  Jeremy enjoyed the knowledge that Sebastian’s current predicament was in fact partially Park’s fault – he’d be sure to tell both Sinclair and Park about that one day. 

In reality, it was a trivial slip of information. A small hint at unprofessionalism – nothing Murkoff actually gave a shit about. So long as it wasn’t incriminating and never left the asylum, the workers interactions with the patients and one another were not of any interest. Not that Blaire had told Park that, rather he made it out as a subtle threat and let the man’s anxious head do the rest. 

At it’s worst; Park’s comments had only served to fuel Blaire’s resolve in destroying both the therapist and the techie. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to place blame on Park.

“It’s not your fault.” Riley apparently disagreed with Blaire’s stand on the matter. His tone was stiff, controlled and perhaps a little forced. In short, Riley was not terribly convincing. “Nothing is anyone’s fault, because _nothing happened_. Everything is fine.” Denial at its finest. “Everything is…fine.”

It certainly didn’t sound that way judging by how Riley’s usually firm voice shook. Blaire had decided to peek a small look through the gap in the door, and was immediately glad he did.

Park looked like a nervous wreck on the verge of a break down, pacing back and forth anxiously as he fiddled with his own fingers. Riley, as per usual, looked the part of a perfectly disciplined guard and had Blaire not known him better he would have entirely missed the cracks in his façade.

His hands clenched too tight, back too ridged with his eyebrows drawn together tightly. He was trying so hard to remain poised and composed but it was all too quickly slipping away from him. 

“Riley?” Park questioned the other when he to picked up on the other’s tense posture. “Hey…Riley are you okay?”

“I’m supposed to look after him, to know he’s safe.” Riley grit out, shoulders trembling slightly. “So where the hell is he?” 

 _Downstairs screaming his precious little lungs out_ , Jeremy’s mind supplied helpfully. 

“God damn it!” Riley’s composer cracked and so did the wall when he punched his fist into it. The asylum wasn’t known for having weak walls but some of the newer rooms had plaster as opposed to wood or brick and unfortunately Riley had just planted his fist in one.

Park let out a rather undignified yelp, jumping in alarm at the horrible cracking sound that came more from Riley’s fist than the wall. Jeremy observed in amusement, that the man had broken at least his fingers when he hit the wall. Riley barely paid the injury any mind, probably unaware he’d even done it he was so preoccupied.

Barely a second between the strike and Park’s manly scream, Riley had dropped to his knees. A fitting look for him, Jeremy decided as he watched the fully-grown man sink to the floor like all his strength had just left him.

“I’m meant to protect him…” Riley muttered again under his breath and Jeremy swore that he heard the man take a breath that bordered on a sob. But Riley did not cry, he kept that safely locked away for as long as humanly possible, instead he just took uneven, heaving gasps for air – fighting back the urge to break down in tears.

It would have been a perfect picture, had Park not decided to ruin it by gradually lowering himself down next to Riley. The thinner male rest a comforting hand on Riley’s back and began to mutter something to the man that Jeremy couldn’t quite here. He did however, catch the tone – the staggering amount of comfort that it held was almost gag worthy.

Words and promises would occasionally reach Jeremy’s ears. Things like ‘it’ll be okay’ and ‘he’ll be alright’ would sometimes be loud enough for the executive to catch. 

Much to Jeremy’s disappointment the soothing seemed to work. Riley’s breathing returned to normal and the guard that had made a point not to get too friendly with anyone after the disaster that was David, reached up to rest his hand on Park’s in a small show of gratitude. 

Jeremy had never really witnessed something like this before. He’d offered up false support before, mocking comfort even – but he hadn’t seen anyone actually try to sooth another out of the goodness of his or her heart. Somehow he’d been mesmerized by it, the sheer pointlessness of Park’s efforts captivating him. 

And Park had looked so content whilst doing it. He held onto a faint smile while patting Riley’s back and Jeremy could find no hint of deceit in the younger man.

With nothing to gain or lose, he gave his time and effort to Riley for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. Because maybe Waylon _cared_. 

Jeremy felt a familiar sense of unease and disgust flood his stomach and as he wrenched himself away from the scene to stalk down the halls – he promised himself that he’d twist that wretched scene into something worth looking at one day. 

If Waylon Park wanted to waste his energy being pointlessly kind and generous – Jeremy would gladly take the time to show him why that idea was unwise.

After all, Riley had already thrown one friend into a cell under Blaire’s demands – what was one more to add to that list?

 

…  
…

 

It was all Jeremy could do not to groan.

It must be a sick, cold day in hell that Jeremy Blaire had to take pointers from _Park’s_ book. But looking at Sinclair’s slumped over body now, he thought that maybe he could almost understand Waylon’s actions.

Park was the golden boy sure, all sweet and caring – easily attached and even more easily hurt. But he was not without some good points, his codes were good – even Blaire had to confess to that. His work ethic was very near perfect, only marred by his impeccable morality, and most importantly he was very nearly the perfect opposite to Jeremy.

Right now Jeremy needed that opposite.

Someone who knew what to do when someone was breaking down in front of them, someone who gave a flying shit. Blaire was an actor, he could pull it off if he tried – he only needed to think about what Park would do in his place. 

With that in mind and feeling all sorts of disgusting, Jeremy drew in a calming breath and approached Sinclair. He actively chose to leave his crutches behind, making the process somewhat awkward as he hobbled across the small distance, using the old wall for support most of the way.

When he was barely arms length away from Sinclair, Jeremy once again paused and racked his brains to think of what Park would do.

But he wasn’t _bloody_ Park.

Jeremy wasn’t sweet or kind or god damn compassionate. He didn’t give a fuck if Sinclair got hit by a bus tomorrow provided it didn’t effect him negatively – it was near impossible to pretend otherwise.

But…he had to do something, had to do _anything_. Even if he got it wrong, he had to give it a shot because there was no other option worth considering.

So, slowly with his heart thundering in his brain, Jeremy reached out with one hand and gentle pressed against Sinclair’s back. The reaction was immediate, the man’s ragged breaths abruptly cut off and his whole body tensed.

It was then Jeremy decided that he couldn’t pretend to care. Not because it was hard or left a foul taste on his tongue – but because he actually knew Sinclair. He wasn’t going to buy fake sympathy and Jeremy doubted he’d even want it. So instead of letting sweet little lies slip off his tongue, Jeremy remained himself.

“You all there?” He asked calmly, noting the way Sinclair’s body seemed to tremble a bit under his palm. “If not, I’m going to hit you.” 

Sinclair’s little chuckle was reassuring to Blaire and it seemed to help ease the man out of whatever daze he’d been in. But he didn’t shift an inch besides that. “I’m terrified, I assure you.” Without meaning to Jeremy smirked at that little jab, at least Sinclair was cognizant enough to joke.

“You’ve never been hit by me properly before.” Jeremy reasoned. “You should be scared.” In all fairness Jeremy had never struck Sinclair deliberately. He’d had others hit him in the past and there had been a few instances of punching during his recovery but most of them were reflex or simple flailing. Jeremy liked to think if he really put his back into it, that he could punch out some of Sebastian’s teeth. 

When a comeback was not immediate, Jeremy’s eyebrows knitted together in frustration. He’d put himself in this position so there was no changing it now but that didn’t mean Sinclair had to make it so bloody difficult.

“Look, if you’re going to breakdown, could you at least not do it wh--” 

“He’s awake.”

Jeremy’s words feel right out of his head when Sebastian spoke across him. The words came quietly, with no great emphasis but somehow they seemed deafening and the silence that followed was even more so.

There was no question as to who ‘ _he’_ was, however it was not what Jeremy had expected to hear. He’d thought perhaps Riley had died in his hospital bed and that was the reason Sebastian had reacted so strongly. It never occurred to Blaire that the older Sinclair boy would have made it back to the conscious world.

Sebastian hadn’t budged and inch but Jeremy wasn’t looking at him the same anymore, it didn’t seem like Sinclair was on the verge of breaking down so much as he was completely at a loss for what to do.

Jeremy found himself in the unique situation of witnessing true, mind numbing, happiness.

He’d never seen that emotion so fully grip someone that they were at a loss of what to do with themselves. Fear, anger and sorrow he’d seen, having witnessed his fair share of employee meltdowns – usually consequences for his own actions. But this was uncharted territory; this was a sort of light he couldn’t begin to share in.

Suddenly Jeremy was alienated. He was closer to the man physically than he would have liked, but in an instant he felt like the two of them were separated by whole worlds.

Sinclair had put a rift between them _again_.

As horrendous as the thought was, Jeremy had felt that over the past few weeks he’d at least been able to garner a basic understanding of Sinclair and the way he viewed the world.

He’d come to quietly enjoy the pessimism that saturated Sinclair’s every waking second, indulged in the obvious weight of Sebastian’s guilt riddled mind and even taken note of the shift from hope to acceptance in his mismatched eyes. Jeremy’s world hadn’t changed at all but Sinclair’s had shifted to more closely resemble his former employer’s vision of the world.

That had suited Blaire and now in the space of one morning that small understanding was being ripped apart.

They both sat on the same filthy kitchen floor; both aching in one way or another but in a matter of seconds a divide had once again been torn between their perceptions of reality. Even from where he sat behind Sinclair, unable to see his face, Jeremy could see the other was practically glowing.

Briefly Jeremy wondered what the world looked like to Sebastian right now. Even though the shack was just as shabby and run down as always, Sebastian had that same shine to him that made Jeremy think he was blind to the horrible state of their surroundings.

 _Must be nice_. Jeremy mused idly. _I can’t stop noticing how horrible this shitty place is, but he looks like this could be a five star hotel. Still, there’s somewhere he’d rather be._  

“Then what the fuck are you doing groveling on the floor?” Jeremy demanded bluntly. “Shouldn’t you go and see him? You’re wasting everyone’s time right now, sobbing pathetically on the floor like a damn infant.”

Sebastian’s head lifted slightly as he seemed to register Jeremy’s words a few seconds after he’d actually said them and then a moment later a hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of the man’s throat. Okay, so maybe a breakdown was still in the ballpark. 

“Right…right, I got to go.” Sebastian agreed blindly and in the same breath, began to hoist himself up off the ground. The blonde man needed to cling to the bench jus to get back to his shaky feet and Jeremy almost caught himself moving to help the other up. Of course he dropped the thought like it was poisonous and instead simply watched Sinclair struggle up. 

“But I can’t see him.” Sebastian groaned miserably. “They won’t let me see him till tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Then you’ll wait.” Jeremy snapped irritably, arms crossed over his chest. “Stop your sniveling, it’s nauseating.”

There was a pause where Sebastian simply stared at Jeremy. His face still a little blotchy from the tears he’d cried and the man’s eyes were already turning a little red from the irritation. In short he looked pathetic but Jeremy wasn't able to take any enjoyment from it this time – it simply looked unsightly.

“Is this because I dropped your food?” Sebastian asked suddenly, catching Blaire off guard. But you know what? Yeah, it was because of the damn food! Jeremy was starving and it was under Sebastian’s list of duties to see to it that he stopped being as such.

“Well.” Blaire watched as the man rubbed his face with renewed fortitude and even though it did little to remove the sore look to his red eyes, the man’s shinning smile almost managed to make him look presentable. “In that case, allow me to make it up to you. We’ll get food in town today.” 

“Christ, you want me to wait another hour to get breakfast?” He was seriously considering strangling Sinclair. Whenever the man left to get food it always took at least an hour – apparently he always got caught up chatting with the locals. A gross waste of time, in Jeremy’s mind.

Without responding Sebastian began to gather up his little cream coloured sack of a bag and what few belongings he left scattered around the kitchen. Jeremy didn’t protest verbally yet but he was certainly lining up his grievances to list off to Sebastian the moment he had them organized in the perfect order.

“What are you doing?” Abruptly Sebastian’s gaze was on him again but despite asking a question, he was wearing that smug expression again. “It’s still a bit cold in town – you can’t wear just that.”

Jeremy felt the air he’d been breathing get caught in his throat as Sinclair’s meaning finally sank in. 

Oh. _Oh_. 

Then Sebastian threw his bag over his shoulder and tossed Jeremy a backwards glance. “I’ll wait for you, a few minutes at best. Better hurry up, I hear they stop serving breakfast at eleven.”

 


	11. Complacent

 

There was only so much a good mood could account for, at least in Jeremy’s mind, and the actions Sebastian had chosen to take that day far surpassed that line.

While Blaire was in no hurry to correct the blonde’s decidedly upbeat temperament, seeing as it served him well in the long run, he couldn’t help but go over the thousands of different ways this could go pear shaped for his captor. Wasn’t the whole premise of keeping a prisoner _not_ to let them have free roam?

Maybe, but that didn’t stop Sebastian from letting Jeremy out of that little prison shack or keep him from taking Jeremy into the equally shabby town with him.

However there had been some debate about how they would be getting into the town.

“It’s a car.” Sebastian told him bluntly, looking at Jeremy like he was insane after the man refused to take another step close to the vehicle. “You get in it to go places. You had a _really_ shiny one once, remember?”

“That.” Jeremy clarified, spitting venom with every word. “Is a putrid rust bucket that’s closer to a scrap pile than it is road worthy.” 

It was true. The thing Sebastian endearingly referred to as a car, looked like it was long past its servicing years. Half the paint was missing and it was all a mat colour. No shine, no gleam – just a flat white bucket.

“She runs beautifully.” Sebastian countered reasonably, obviously lacking the ability to understand Jeremy’s reservations about the running death trap.“ She’s sturdy, _safe_.”

“ _She_ is a joke.” If they got into an argument about the gendering of items then they’d be here all day, but that didn’t mean Jeremy couldn’t mock the use of the word with tone alone.

“She is your one ticket into town. To food, remember?”

A pause.

“Just get in the fucking rust bucket.”

He’d never claimed it to be a lengthy debate.

Clambering into the ratty little thing, Jeremy was positively thrilled to discover that not only was it a heap of junk on the outside, it was claustrophobic on the interior. To Sebastian’s credit, he did not immediately kick Jeremy out when the moaning began, he had a laundry list of things wrong with their chosen mode of transport and Sinclair dutifully listened to each one while occasionally offering up some sort of defense. For the most part however he just allowed Blaire to verbally lash out at him and the car. 

Eventually, after a particularly scathing comment from Blaire, Sebastian laughed. The sound surprised both men, because really, who expected someone to laugh after having been verbally beaten for the past twenty minutes? But, begrudgingly Jeremy had to admit that it was a comforting sound.

After all, the happier Sinclair stayed, the safer Blaire would be. It seemed like Sinclair was more than willing to be bent to Blaire’s whims the more time passed, Jeremy liked to entertain the idea that one day with a simple word he’d be able to make Sinclair do anything for him – almost like old times. He remembered the past more fondly than Sinclair did though, so it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring the sentiment up around him.

Eventually the conversation gave away to silence and Blaire was left clinging to his seat, hoping desperately that the car wouldn’t begin to fall into pieces while they were still in it. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy caught Sinclair biting back a snicker and had he been bold enough to release his death grip on the seat, he would have flipped the man off.

By the time their little car crawled into the sleepy town, Blaire’s fingers had all but locked up and gone stiff – aching in the joints from having been tense for so long. Prying his fingers off the seat was a little difficult and flexing out his fingers was a genuinely painful exercise.

“Maybe a little more faith?” Sinclair suggested, barely hiding his amusement as he watched Jeremy straightening his sore fingers back out.

“Oh believe me.” Jeremy spat back angrily. “My faith in you is _boundless_.”

He was half way out of the car and in the middle of slamming the door shut when Jeremy caught Sinclair’s halfhearted reply. “I meant in the car.” And damn, if it didn’t just sound like the kid was sulking.

Rolling his eyes, Jeremy focused on finding his footing again. He was doing incredibly well according to Sinclair’s constant reassurances, but sometimes there was still some difficulty in walking – and there was almost always something that ached in some way or another.

“Need a hand?” Jeremy wished dearly that he could have just punched Sinclair right in his helpful face. Instead Jer made a noncommittal grunting sound and Sinclair understood that as a reluctant yes. Jeremy was never going to actively ask for his help, so Sinclair had to pick up on his little signs of consent along the way.

“You’ll feel better when you get your pick of breakfast.” Sinclair consoled his disgruntle patient while offering up a balancing shoulder. It took a moment or two but gradually Jeremy felt confident on his own two legs again and made a point to get some space between himself and Sinclair. 

The threat of falling was a far away memory now days, Sinclair was never far behind and if Jeremy so much as stumbled, the idiot was there to catch him before he could so much as scuff his knee. His over attentiveness frequently got on Jeremy’s nerves – but there was a sort of comfort in knowing that Sinclair was being so devoted.

Grudgingly Jeremy cast a glance back at Sinclair, and as expected he was standing there with that puppy dog look on his face. Smiling pleasantly like there was nothing wrong with the world and if it was possible, when he noticed Jeremy looking at him, Sinclair’s face brightened further into a questioning smile. Like he was silently asking Blaire if he needed anything.

 It was impossible to bite back this sigh and Jeremy felt like he was going to be left with a headache. He wasn’t frustrated enough to long for the more psychotic Sinclair back, but this was grating on his nerves almost enough to make him consider it. Whatever had happened in Sinclair’s mind some odd nine months ago to make him so unoffended by Jeremy’s existence, it had to have been some sort of earth shifting epiphany for the bastard.

“Where do you usually get coffee from?” Jeremy asked abruptly. Despite Sinclair’s many short comings and fuck ups – he did always bring some damn good coffee and bakery goods with him. 

Behind him, Sinclair hesitated. Jeremy didn’t see the way the blonde shifted uncomfortably, if he had, the callous bastard would have no doubt latched onto that small indication of weakness and exploited it all he could.

“You want to go there?” The tone Jeremy definitely did pick up on.

Turning slowly, Jeremy fixed Sinclair with an inauspicious stare, questioning with his gaze alone. Not one to refuse Jeremy much after so many attempts to make up for his more…questionable actions, Sebastian took a single calming breath and nodded. 

“Sure, I’ll take you there. It’s…a nice little place.” Whatever reservations Sinclair had about sharing this little coffee shop with Jeremy only strengthened the man’s resolve to go.

Was he embarrassed to take Blaire with him? Better yet, was this place something important to him? Whatever the reason Jeremy was pretty keen on finding out – if only to know how much he should hate the little shit.

Behind Blaire’s back, he swore he heard Sinclair muttering under his breath in frustration – it certainly helped to fuel Jeremy’s gradually growing good mood.

Before they were able to go to this ‘nice little place’ Sinclair insisted that the two of them stop by one of the few clothes shops in the town. It turned out Sinclair wanted Blaire to have a hat and sunglasses, which in the former executive’s mind was a ludicrous disguise that would draw more attention than it’d divert.

However the man insisted and Blaire didn’t put up too much of a fight, if he did there was a good chance that Sinclair would appear with a hat and pair of glasses of his choosing anyway. Blaire had just about enough of Sinclair’s uncouth taste in clothing. Eventually this resulted in Sinclair picking up every single hat in a fairly small corner shop that seemed more aimed at tourism than clothing, and Jeremy turning every single one down. 

“How can one man be this picky?” Sinclair lamented on the fifth hat. “It’s just a hat, put it on your head already!”

Regardless of the man’s complaints, they went through three more before Jeremy was finally satisfied. The glasses were easier, so long as Sinclair didn't pick up anything other than black and thin, he was in the clear. That didn’t stop the heavily scarred man from at least trying to offer Jeremy a pair of bright red ones with the comment, “They’re diva glasses – perfect for you.” Sinclair was lucky he didn’t leave the shop with those glasses sticking out of his eye.

It did feel rather ridiculous, wearing the shades and hat down low like he’d been ripped straight out of a movie cliché; still Sinclair was smiling pleasantly in that pleased way of his, so Jeremy let it pass.

By the time they actually got the coffee shop in question, Jeremy’s stomach was beginning to make audible complaints. Mortified by the sounds coming from his stomach, Jeremy made a point to hurry Sinclair and cast him a glare to get that smug expression off his dumb face.

The store itself didn’t look particularly impressive from the outside. It was all brick work with a few flowers placed around its borders, which were painfully obvious considering it was jammed in between a hairdressers painted all white and what looked like some type of ill fated family run shop.

At a glance Blaire cloud make out all sorts of pottery and dusty old books in that shop, placing into the unfortunate category of unorganized merchandise. In small towns like this however it might have made more sense to stock a wide variety of produce, specialty stores wouldn’t do well in a place like this.

He didn’t spare the family business much sympathy beyond the recognition of their struggle, but at the very least Jeremy had the decency not to derive amusement from it. At least not much.

Sinclair, ever the gentleman, held the door open for Blaire and with a small chime of a bell somewhere just out of sight, Jeremy was greeted with the strong scent of coffee. It smelt familiar, bearing the same scent of the drinks Sinclair had been bringing him for weeks, that meant that Jeremy could be confident in the quality of the food.

The quality of everything else however was questionable. There was a distinct childish feel to this whole place, everything appeared haphazardly placed with nothing but a whim behind their arrangement. Naturally this clashed with Jeremy’s desire to keep things in order, he was practically itching under his own flesh to just organize something in this wretched place.

However the further Jeremy passed into the humble little store, the more he came to realize that were was some relief to be found in this…hippy style. It was so thoroughly detached from anything resembling the asylum or Murkoff that Jeremy felt as though he had also been taken out of that sterile mindset – if only for a few passing minutes.

Begrudgingly Jeremy had to admit he could see the appeal of such a place to someone like Sinclair, who was so thoroughly damaged it was laughable. Jeremy would have bet that Sinclair had developed a nervous twitch around any sort of organized business – he’d never be getting another office job that was for sure.

Then abruptly, as if she was able to simply materialize out of thin air – there was a girl. 

“Sebby, darling!” Both Blaire and Sinclair winced at the pet name, not that the bubbly woman noticed. “I was wondering when you’d come sauntering back in – a little late aren’t you?” 

Behind Jeremy the door closed gently and he could just hear Sinclair beginning to make apologetic chuckles. “I might as well live here by now Mary. I’m here more than home.” 

While he was being overlooked, Jeremy took a moment to really study the female. She had blonde curls and a round face sporting a set of huge blue eyes. Looking at her irritated Jeremy but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something about her felt unnervingly familiar, like her face was one he should know. 

“It’d be better than that ratty apartment you have.” Mary pointed out, her warm features crumbling into a concerned frown. “I worry about you Sebby, it’s not healthy to be in that place all alone all day.”

If only he was. Sinclair spent a majority of his time with Blaire now days. Obviously no one corrected Mary, it went without saying that their set up was to be kept a closely guarded secret. After all they’d both be in jail if they got caught out.

Before Sinclair could let out some obvious lie, the woman finally seemed to take notice of Jeremy. For a few peaceful seconds she simply stared at his face before abruptly leaping up with a sound of recognition. “Oh! You’re the man from the other night.” A beaming smile flew right back onto Mary’s face. “You’re looking so much better – I didn’t recognize you at all.” 

How she remembered one stranger’s face from months back and somehow refereed to such a large gap as ‘the other night’ was all beyond Jeremy’s ability to comprehend. Even with her exclamation it still took him a few more seconds to finally put a person to a face. She was the woman that gave him money for the bus during his ill-fated escape attempt.

“Did you get home alright?” She continued on in that overly friendly tone. “Your family didn’t miss you too much?” Behind him, Jeremy heard Sinclair choke back a laugh. He tried not to scowl but found it increasingly difficult with Sinclair having a little giggle at his expense.

Instead of whirling on his companion and cracking him across the face, Jeremy instead forced on his sweetest smile and bore with it.

“Ah, yes. Thank you very much for that – it was silly of me to lose my wallet like that. My, ah, family was relieved I made it home alright.” A strangely hollow feeling began to form in Jeremy’s chest. Lying had nothing to do with it, lies came easily and freely to Blaire but there was something about this lie that stung a little bit.

Perhaps it was the fact he actually returned ‘home’ to a leg breaking.

Blissfully ignorant and obviously too airheaded to take notice of anything unusual, Mary just went on smiling happily. “Glad I could help you.” Jeremy forced himself not to snarl about how ‘helpful’ she’d been in the long run. 

“Alright, what can I get you two fine young men today? It’s not every day Sebby brings in a new friend.” This woman was far too invested in Sinclair’s business and it was beginning to crawl on Blaire’s nerves.

By that time Sinclair had managed to get his snickering under control and took charge. Blaire would have complained but the man had his order down perfectly and frankly the dedication Sinclair had for Jeremy’s desires and preferences was admirable. Sitting back and observing him rattle of the list of sugars, what Blaire didn’t and did want, put him in a fairly good mood. So as they settled down into a window side booth, Jeremy did not immediately start snarling at Sinclair for his earlier rudeness.

In fact when Jeremy did not immediately say anything, Sinclair glanced at him with a questioning look. In response the older man simply rolled his eyes, he did not need to commit every waking moment to chiding and belittlingly Sinclair – it was just something that came naturally.

The two of them lapsed into a lengthy silence, it wasn’t uncomfortable or troubling – instead it was relaxing. They frequently became quiet like this around one another, not because they were at a loss for words or did not wish to speak to one another – it was just that for a while they had no reason to exchange any words, and the silence was bliss. This was the true meaning of comfortable silence.

Jeremy’s mind wandered when they were quiet like this, to all the familiar places. Thoughts of the past, good and bad – thoughts of what was to come and how he’d handle it when it did. But today he thought about family. The blonde worker had brought it up and for some reason the word stuck in his brain.

His own family was such a distant thought that Jeremy hardly had anything to dwell on it with them and the family he’d conjured up for Mary in a lie was nothing more than a thought on the wind. Now he was left with little else but other’s families. 

Jeremy wondered if Trager had a family, and if he did, had he given them a spare thought at any point? Or was Rick more like himself with little to no thoughts on the people that raised and sired him. The only people Jeremy knew that had strong attachments to family were idiots like Waylon and Sinclair. 

But thinking about Waylon now, and remembering the happy expression he’d been wearing the last time that Jeremy set eyes on him – well it was obvious that he’d gotten the better end out of all this.

As Mary approached with their drinks and food, Jeremy’s mind switched to Sinclair. Looking at the scarred man as he thanked Mary with a genuine smile – Jeremy wasn’t sure if the former therapist had the same good fortune as Waylon. His only family was still in hospital and currently he was unable to visit his brother.

Jeremy was positive that it was killing Sebastian inside not to rush to his brother’s side, but he made a good show of pretending otherwise.

“Sinclair.” The blonde glanced up when Jeremy uttered his name, evidently surprised that he’d broken the silence so soon. The woman had left back to her other duties and Sinclair had been adding gross amounts of sugar to his tea when Jeremy caught him by surprise.

“You and your brother, you’re creepy attached.” Jeremy pretended not to see the scowl Sinclair shot him, opting instead to stare out the window. Unfortunately the small town didn’t have much going in the way of scenery, but it was still a step up from looking at his insulted companion. “What I mean to say is, don’t you have anyone else?”

The insult melted away to be replaced with genuine surprise. “Anyone else?”

“Yes, you moron.” Not in the habit of repeating himself Jeremy simply rolled his eyes and finally fixed them on Sebastian. “Parents, cousins, uncles, aunts – any family other than your brother?” 

While Sinclair looked down at the cup in his hands, considering an answer, Jeremy in turn wondered why he was asking. Perhaps after having spent so much time being bored out of his mind even small conversations like this would suffice. However the question was a rather pointless one, logically Sinclair couldn’t tell Blaire anything he hadn’t already read on his file.

From what Jeremy could dreg up from his memory, the Sinclair boys had no other living relatives – their parents having died when Riley was only fresh out of high school. The two had almost been split up by social workers, Riley had dropped his studies in favor of taking up labor jobs to support them and keep his brother. Sebastian went on to get a good education after being assisted by their inheritance, government funds and Riley’s tireless working.

Really Sebastian was a blessed child – he’d been so dearly loved by his brother.

Some part of Jeremy was curious to hear what that was like, it was such an alien concept to him and there was a note of bizarreness to it. 

“We had a sister.” Sebastian admitted slowly, thinking he would surprise Jeremy with knowledge he didn’t have. He couldn't have known that Jeremy had heard about this mystery sister while Sinclair was screaming his lungs out one night. “When our parents died she was still a little girl. Riley tried to get us both but…well they said he wasn’t able to care for two children, let alone a girl that young. So she was sent off to a proper home.”

While he relayed this story to Jeremy, Sebastian had a far away smile on his face. It was a sad expression that worked to appear less heartbreaking than it really was. 

“Never saw her again. Riley got a few updates from the family, letting him know she was growing up okay, but they didn’t want us showing up down the line somewhere and ruining their family life. I understand that, I guess… Still I would have liked to see her again. Just once to make sure she really was okay.” 

After a pause Sebastian glanced up at Jeremy with a crooked smile. “But that probably doesn’t count for now anyway. What about you? As far as I know you popped out of the ground like a daisy straight from hell.”

“Charming.” Jeremy drawled, tossing Sebastian a small scowl for good measure before taking a sip of his coffee. “I was an only child.” Sebastian made a soft snorting sound as if he’d expected as much. “Well off parents, proper up bringing and education. Not interesting but serviceable. They’re probably dead by now.”

“You don’t know?” Jeremy cringed at the shocked tone of Sebastian’s voice. There was concern in there as well and he did not dare look up at the blonde, knowing for a fact he’d be making that compassionate expression with his scarred face again. Jeremy did not want to see the gleam of pity in Sinclair’s milky, unseeing eye. 

That face should not wear concern for him while baring the scars Jeremy left him with – it was unnatural.

“I don’t care.” He answered flatly, making it very clear the conversation was to be dropped and thankfully Sebastian let it die. He’d gotten better at reading Blaire’s moods.

That was the first time the two of them went into town together but it wasn’t the last occasion Jeremy found himself drinking coffee across from Sebastian at the little table. They returned to town countless times. The argument over the car becoming less forceful each time they had it and every day they ventured into town for supplies or breakfast, with the familiar smiling face of Mary greeting them each time.

Sebastian still had not been able to go to the hospital, a mix of poor timing and complications with Riley. He was safe from death however and for the time being that was enough to sate Sebastian. When Mary found out that he’d woken up she’d been frantic with joy, hardly able to sit still and despite being the owner of the establishment she’d been prepared to abandon it to the care of one disgruntle looking teen in order to visit him.

Sebastian had been able to calmly talk her down, but her excitement was contagious and Jeremy could see the desire to visit Riley gnawing at Sebastian’s insides.

Over the following fortnight Jeremy became rather familiar with the town. They returned to the markets that Blaire had visited many months ago and Sebastian rather gleefully recounted seeing Jeremy for the first time there. The mockery in the story was enough to prompt Jeremy to throw the bag of fruit they’d bought into Sebastian’s face.

Disregarding the constant annoyance that was Sebastian, Jeremy was beginning to feel more at ease with this slow paced lifestyle. His every whim was catered for by his attentive captor, and his freedoms were practically everything save for a few specific restrictions – like contacting Murkoff. Which was not something Jeremy wanted to partake in to begin with.

However Sebastian still insisted on escorting Jeremy despite his injuries having been practically forgotten over the course of time. Occasionally the scarred man’s concern for Jeremy’s safety and well being became too much and for a few brief moments Jeremy would be given the liberty of freedom from the man’s presence.

Jeremy was not foolish enough to believe that Sinclair ever truly let him out of sight, but the act was enough to satisfy him for a time.

He’d unwittingly become accustomed to this lifestyle and although Jeremy would never admit it – there was a small satisfaction in not being required to do anything. No deadlines or expectations, just mindless conversations and moments of respite.

The conversation he’d once overheard coming from the employees at Murkoff about the desire for the sun – Jeremy almost understood it now. He’d never much cared for small luxuries like the sun against a blue sky or a gentle breeze on a warm day – he’d always preferred larger luxuries that came with a hefty price tag. Now…he would occasionally take a moment to enjoy the less expensive luxuries on offer. 

And if he were to be caught admiring the sky by Sebastian, the man would only smile at him contentedly as if he thought Jeremy was becoming something more human.

So when things abruptly changed gears, Jeremy was thrown off balance. 

The markets were bustling during one of their many routine trips for food; Sebastian explained it was the second month markets. Which meant that people from out of town came to see the different stores and there was more on offer than usual. Besides the normal fruit stores there was entertainment and art stands. 

They’d opted to look around briefly before heading home, the crowds were not something that boded well with either of them. More people meant more chance of recognition or being taken off guard. But they’d gotten so complacent that a little bit of sight seeing had not seemed like a terrible idea.

Sebastian particularly enjoyed the performances and artistic side of the markets, while Jeremy entertained himself with finding bargains and evaluating people. He rarely had something good to say about them but Sebastian would usually just roll his eyes and tell Jeremy to try being nicer.

Jeremy had stepped out of the way of a large family as their kids rushed on ahead of their parents when his eye caught a small clothing stand. Jeremy wouldn’t have bought anything for himself from it because it looked far too colourful and alternative for his tastes but there was something of interest among the brightly coloured fabrics.

The stall was selling masquerade masks, some made for a full face covering, others for only the eyes – but the ones that had Jeremy’s attention were the half face masks. Briefly Sebastian’s face flashed across Jeremy’s mind and the expression he’d wear when people would stare.

Sometimes Jeremy forgot that there was even anything unusual about Sinclair’s face, the scars having become just another part of the idiot man. So when a child would cry or point him out, or adults would turn away to try and be polite – it always seemed strange to Jeremy. He’d forgotten how alarming the burns were to those not accustomed to them.

Sebastian for his part in all this was very gracious about it, smiling when people apologized for being rude, laughing and offering up tall tales for the kids who were fascinated and socially inept enough to ask. But Jeremy had lived with the moron for long enough to notice the way his face would crumble when he thought people weren’t looking.

He’d not missed the various make up kits the man tried to use and failed to cover his deformity with. Nothing quite hid the redness or the uneven bumps of his face – and his eye was all but a lost cause without contacts.  A luxury that Sebastian wouldn’t give himself when the money could go towards food or better clothes for Jeremy.

Humming thoughtfully to himself Jeremy picked up one of the half facemasks, thinking that it this one would look particularly funny on Sebastian’s dumb face. Grinning mirthlessly to himself Jeremy paid for the mask and turned away from the store to return to Sebastian – keen to see the look on his face when presented with the mask.

Jeremy wasn’t sure if he'd give a long suffering groan or be too shocked to muster a response, and he was eager to find out. He needed to pick on Sebastian once in a while to get his jollies. 

“Sinclair, look what I--”

The call died on the tip of Jeremy’s tongue when he realized that Sinclair wasn’t there. He could have sworn that Sebastian had been there a second ago – he only turned his back for a moment. Where had the man gone?

For a few seconds Jeremy stood there, dumbfounded.

Was Sebastian watching him from somewhere out of sight? Where had he gone? Sebastian never left him alone, not really – so why wasn’t he here now? 

Alarm began to course through Jeremy’s veins, setting off every nerve in his body. The sudden crushing realization that he was alone bore down on him harshly. This was the first time in months that he’d really been left alone by Sinclair and Jeremy had the feeling that this was not intentional.

What if Sebastian thought he’d run off again?

A chill shot down Jeremy’s spine, a bone chilling sensation he had not felt since Sebastian brutalized his legs. A phantom pain thrummed in his bones, a reminder of what Sebastian _could_ do – the thing that Jeremy could inspire in the usually friendly man.

He had to find Sebastian; he needed to find him now before things got bad. Sinclair could be reasonable right? He’d understand if they just got separated for a moment, certainly he would.

Jeremy began to frantically push through the crowds; looking for any sign of the white hoodie Sinclair wore outdoors to hide his face to the public. But everywhere Jeremy looked he only found strangers faces, no stupidly smiling Sebastian in sight.

“Daddy?” A child called out to Jeremy’s side and when he caught the child’s shaking voice and scared tone, Jeremy realized the kid had probably gotten separated from his father. Strange how his predicament was hardly different to the child’s.

Separation from Sebastian bore too many problems to be worth considering, aside from the man’s possible homicidal rage there was also outside threats. If Murkoff spotted him now he’d be dead before the police had a chance to speak to him. Or worse, what if he were to encounter the Walrider again and Sebastian wasn’t there to calm the beast?

Jeremy felt his head swimming, a tightness in his chest making it hard to breath. Stumbling carelessly away from the main flow of people, Jeremy dropped himself down between two of the stalls, hiding in the shadows as he struggled to breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jeremy rationalized that he was having a panic attack.

He couldn’t breath no matter how much he gasped and fought to draw breath. A less rational, more panic stricken part of Jeremy was avid about the fact that they were going to die. Die of suffocation, at Sebastian’s hands, Murkoff – it didn’t matter how, it just insisted that he was dead and breathing became an impossible task.

Then suddenly, there was a gentle pressure on his back. Someone was patting his back is small soothing motions, the small pressure actually managed to calm Blaire slightly. The person continued to try and comfort Blaire with these small pats and beyond the roaring in his own ears, Jeremy could hear them talking to him. 

Nonsensical words that held a reassuring tone, the meaning behind the words was lost on Jeremy but he latched onto the comforting voice and tried to use it as a corner stone to even out his breathing. It took a while but slowly Jeremy felt a full breath enter his lungs again and after the first, the rest came more easily.

Finally able to breath again Jeremy sputtered the first thing that came to mind when he turned towards the person comforting him. “Sebas--?” He stopped speaking when he saw the person helping him was not the familiar blonde, instead it was the child he’d heard calling for his father moments before.

Ignoring the blow to his pride, Jeremy was surprised a child had been able to help him through what had been his first panic attack in nearly four years.

“My Dad sometimes has those.” The child explained to him quietly. The boy didn't look any older than ten years old but there was a definite glint of knowledge in his eyes. “Are you okay Mister?”

Jeremy’s whole body was shaking like a leaf and he felt like he was going to be sick, but for now he’d pass for ‘okay’ and so he gave a small nod as speaking was still a chore. He needed time to calm down, so when the child began to mindlessly rattle off whatever came into their head, Jeremy was thankful rather than irritated. The kid’s tone was still soothing despite the nonsense he was speaking, if he really did this for his father he must have known Jeremy needed to just focus on something for a while.

Unwittingly Jeremy ended up listening to the child speak for ten minutes and once they reached the fifteen minute mark, he began to speak back. Slowly, shakily at first but with each passing comment his voice got stronger.

“So what did you do?” He found himself asking the boy after having been told that he was getting bullied something fierce at school.

“Well I would’a knocked his socks off!” The boy exclaimed, punching the air for emphasis. “But…” He visibly deflated. “Dad told me not to, said I had to be the bigger man.”

Jeremy had snorted at that.

“It’s not funny! Now he picks on me even worse and I can’t do anything about it. He comes to my house sometimes now, just to make fun of me.” Now Jeremy wasn’t one to solve others problems but the kid had been helpful and there was no harm in give him a little worldly knowledge.

“You don’t need to hit someone to beat them.” Jeremy told the kid casually, and the boy looked at him skeptically. “You know the phrase ‘sticks and stones will break my bones,’?”

“But words will never hurt me, I know it.” The boy finished, still wearing that disbelieving expression.

“It’s a lie. Try this one on for size. ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never leave me.’ Understand?”

“I don’t get it.” Jeremy laughed at the kid’s blunt honesty.

“Alright kid, it’s like this.” Jeremy shifted so he was sitting comfortably next to the kid and began to lay out his idea for the kid. “You hit someone, they bruise for a week or so. You say something that hurts them and they carry that forever. All you got to do is be smarter than this kid, find a weakness and exploit it.”

And so Jeremy Blaire sat there with a kid for twenty minutes and explained how to mentally assassinate another ten year old. It was actually surprisingly enjoyable and the boy seemed to be glowing by the end of it, new ideas forming in his head on how to deal with bullies. By the end of it, both of them were laughing.

“Jackie?” The boy suddenly looked up, having caught his name being called and just like that he seemed to remember he’d been lost to begin with. Getting to his feet with an energy only a child could manage, Jackie glanced back at Blaire with a grin plastered on his face.

 “Thanks for the advice Mister, I gotta go now – Dad is calling.” Jeremy idly waved goodbye to the kid as he rushed out from in between the two stores and back into the light of the main pathway where he spotted his searching father.

“Jackie!” The man exclaimed, sound exasperated and relieved once he spotted his son. But…something about that voice was jarringly familiar as it grew closer. “Where have you been? Your mother and I were worried sick!” The boy mumbled an apology but Jeremy couldn’t hear the words clear over the realization that he did know the person who owned that voice.

“Park…?” Immediately Jeremy was up, moving to the edge of the stalls, peering out at the father and son as he realized exactly who it was. Waylon Park crouched in front of his son, trying to get Jackie to understand just how worried they’d been. He looked exactly the same as Jeremy remembered, healthy and considerable happier than Jeremy.

Just like that Jeremy’s mind clicked back into planning mode. He’d been gone too long, separated from Sebastian too long to not get some sort of cruel punishment – there was no point trying to find Sinclair at this point, but he was still faced with the same problems as his first escape attempt.

Where to go, how would he stay clothed and fed, how could be avoid Murkoff? All that was still a very real problem, but now that he’d seen Park – there was a third option gradually rising to the forefront of his mind.

Waylon Park got him into this mess with his whistleblowing bullshit, so he was going to get him out of it.

That was how Jeremy Blaire found himself actively following Waylon through the market place. It was easy to stay out of sight and even if he was in sight, Park wasn’t going to recognize him immediately like this. Park thought he was dead and frankly without his usual suit Park probably wouldn’t recognize him. It was something akin to seeing a teacher out of school in regular people clothes – so Jeremy didn’t have any trouble tailing the happy family.

Occasionally his gaze would slip down to Jackie who was the older of Waylon’s two boys, when he looked at the happy kid Jeremy wasn’t sure what to make of it. There was a sense of gratitude for the kid’s company and a stroke of spiteful amusement for having Jackie lead him to Waylon.

The family of four, once the youngest boy and Lisa had joined Park and Jackie, made their way out of the market place and Jeremy found himself wondering just how far away they lived from this place. That question was answered almost immediately by the information he’d gathered from Jackie and his own experience.

They lived two towns over, in the place Jeremy had made it to on his first escape attempt and according to Jackie they lived in a suburb in a house with a pink mailbox that was shaped like their house. Jackie had thought it would look better painted blue but the mailbox had always been pink so they weren’t going to change it now.

That gave him the perfect little starting point. With the money he had on him Jeremy had no trouble getting two towns over the same way he had the first time and it didn’t take long after that to find the suburbs in question. Jeremy did not even feel a rush to find the correct house.

It was night time when Jeremy finally found himself standing in front of the little pink house shaped mail box with a familiar family car parked in the drive way.

For a moment there was hesitation, he’d spent hours thinking about how to approach this, even longer imagining the different outcomes. How Park would react, what he could say to force the man to help him. All of it was up in the air, it could end up with him in prison or even worse with Murkoff – but he had to take this chance.

The lights in the house were turning on and off, it was getting late and Jeremy assumed the kids would be going to bed soon. He needed Waylon alone – needed to frighten him a bit, catch him at a moment where he felt weak and alone. It was nothing more than the usual tactics that he employed in the past – but it had been a long time since they’d been in practice.

But Jeremy did not believe in being rusty – this was something that would come naturally.

 

…  
…  
…

 

Jackie had always been a bit of an adventurer but Waylon wished that he’d be a little more careful. Losing sight his son in the crowd for a few seconds was one thing but to lose him for almost half an hour? No one could blame Waylon for panicking a little bit. Lisa had been the calmer of the two, boys would be boys and Jackie knew his way around. They had contingency plans, Jackie knew where to meet them if they were separated for too long – so why hadn’t he been there? 

Thankfully Jackie had been found and was perfectly okay. When Waylon asked what Jackie had been doing he said that he’d made a friend and talked to them for a while. That was such a typical child thing to do, and at least Waylon knew that Jackie hadn’t been alone, he’d been off making friends with other kids. 

By the time the family got home the sun was setting and Noel had fallen asleep. Their bedtime wasn’t for another hour or so but Noel had always been an easily exhausted child and so Waylon had carried him to bed once they got home while Lisa fixed Jackie a quick late night dinner. It was one of those weekends where they sacrificed a family meal for a fun day out. 

And it had been fun, the boys loved the markets and Waylon was able to enjoy the normality of it all. Although he was a bit disappointed he hadn’t been able to meet up with Sebastian while he was in town. They still kept their usual meet up at the coffee shop but recently it seemed like Sebastian had been busy.

Waylon worried about him occasionally. Whatever it was that took up Sebastian’s time was both demanding and constant but not a source of income. Despite that, Waylon had to admit that the man looked better. For a while there he seemed more bogged down in horrible memories than Waylon was – like something terrible was still looming over his head and Sebastian had no way of combating it.

He never did tell Waylon what it was exactly but over time he began to smile again, and even though he seemed constantly busy and distracted – Sebastian was definitely happier. So Waylon didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and simply took comfort in Sebastian’s happiness. 

By the time Waylon had been able to usher Jackie off to bed, resistant as he was, Lisa had sat herself down in front of the television. Despite being tired she was determined to see that new episode of her favorite show. Waylon knew she’d try to stay up for it all, but would inevitably fall asleep before it finished. He made a note to come down and get her before he went to sleep.

With Jackie and Noel in bed and asleep – despite his protests that he wasn’t tired, Jackie was out like a light when he hit the pillow – Waylon went through the house turning off lights as he made his way to his and Lisa’s bedroom. It was almost pitch black once he flicked the hallway light off, the only source of light in their room coming from the glass sliding doors to the balcony. 

Which were open. Surprised and a little confused Waylon tried to remember having opened them as he walked over to shut the doors again. He didn’t remember opening them himself but perhaps Lisa had?

Not alarmed, Waylon simply shut them up and locked them. He didn't like having unlocked doors around the house but Lisa insisted he not lock the sliding doors during the day because she was in and out of the house constantly and rarely had a key on her. Waylon wished she’d just try to remember the keys but last time he’d locked them without telling her, Lisa had busted in a window to get inside and save the cake she was cooking.

The window cost a fair bit but an angry Lisa cost Waylon far more.

Chuckling at the memory, Waylon reached for the blinds to close them when there was a quiet sound behind him – like someone moving in the room. 

Waylon’s whole body locked up, because he knew it wouldn’t be Lisa or the boys, because he now had the dreadful feeling that the doors had been shut. The sublet change in his body language was picked up by the intruder and then in a calm, unhurried tone they spoke. Causing Waylon to break out into a cold sweat because he knew – he _knew_ that voice. 

“Good Evening Mr. Park. I take it the boys are in bed, asleep?”

And from the corner of his eye, Waylon could just make out Jeremy Blaire’s smile gleaming in the darkness.

 

 

 

 


	12. Playing Happy Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not dead.  
> Tell me if there are any errors, or thoughts, or wants.  
> Really just talk to me.

It was like something out of a nightmare for both parties involved. For different reasons of course. The situation didn’t exactly play out as either of them had expected. 

Jeremy felt pretty smug, sitting contentedly on Park’s cheap furniture. One leg leisurely crossed over the other as he had a front row seat to Waylon’s reaction to his presence in the house. 

The expression of genuine horror and shock playing on Park’s face was enough to get an amused chuckle out of Blaire. His mood only boosted with every second of terrified silence, a familiar sense of satisfaction pooling in his chest and fueling the return of his ego. Yes, this was something that came naturally, he wasn’t rusty at all. 

“I’m sure even you must understand I wouldn’t make a house call for nothing, Mr. Park.” Confidence came easily through words designed to belittle and unnerve. The room was eerily quiet, as Park seemed at a loss for words of his own. The stillness of the room only made the whole scenario all the more surreal – it felt similar to the few occasions Blaire would meet with someone in the dead of the night to discuss less savory plans. 

A familiar, welcoming sort of memory that prompted Blaire to keep talking. Unhurried and calm with his smooth words. Frankly this meeting could not have felt better.

“So for the time being how about yo--”

That was until Park busted Jeremy’s lip. 

The punch came so unexpectedly that even if Jeremy had noticed Park moving forward he wouldn't have had the time to react. A sudden, sharp crack across his jaw and Jeremy found himself on the floor rather than the chair. He tasted the blood before the pain set in, for the first few stunned seconds Jeremy felt nothing but the impact and trickle of warm blood beginning to ooze out of his lower lip. 

For his part, Waylon was clutching the offending hand tightly with his face screwed up in pain while he seemed to be desperately fighting back the urge to start spitting swears. He’d probably broken something in his hand when punching Jeremy, but the former executive had no time to find entertainment in that as his own pain gradually set in. 

A throbbing heat began to spread across his cheek and jaw growing increasingly more painful with every passing second as the numbness dwindled away. Growling furiously, Jeremy slapped a hand to his face, cupping his no doubt swollen jaw. The two grown men must have looked ridicules, both staring at one another while holding their respective injuries. 

It took about two seconds for anger to properly register in Jeremy’s mind and then when it finally did – he exploded. 

“What the _fuck_ did you just hit me for, Park!?” He would have shouted the words had his jaw not been aching so bad and the threat of bringing Lisa’s wrath down on them ever present. But that didn’t stop Jeremy from packing every single syllable with as much venom and fury as he physically could. 

“What are you doing in my house?” Waylon shot back, his voice wasn’t even close to matching Jeremy’s furious snarl and instead it went up an octave or two in fright alone.

“You halfwit.” Jeremy snarled, not offering up an answer just yet as he focused more on his quickly bruising face. 

As a string of steady curses – most of which were directed at Waylon – slipped out of Jeremy Blaire, the poor home owner could only sit back and stare. It was like something out of a horror movie, or alternatively, a tragic comedy – having the man he held mostly responsible for a majority of his hardships show up in his house in the dead of night.

A phantom pain in Waylon’s stomach reminded him of a time he’d been bleeding out on the entrance hall to the asylum. Jeremy’s knife had cut deep – far deeper than Waylon’s shock had. Some part of him should have known that Blaire was going to stab him – but he’d stupidly approached all the same. 

Maybe it had been the pleading, or perhaps Waylon had simply approached because there was no other way but forward. Even if he’d only intended to walk over Blaire’s bleeding body – he had to keep moving forward. His single-minded determination had gotten him out of Gluskin’s domain and eventually from the asylum all together – but he’d lost parts of himself along the way. 

His artificial foot felt clunky and uncomfortable underneath him. 

With Jeremy absentmindedly spitting expletives in his direction, Waylon finally had enough time to wrap his brain around this bizarre situation. In the dimly lit room Waylon actually needed a few solid seconds of just staring at Blaire to realize something else was very wrong with this picture. Besides all the obviously horrible things. 

“What happened to you?” Waylon asked, mouth agape when he really took stock of Blaire’s condition. There were marks on him that, while faded, were still prominent enough to startle Waylon. His arm looked terribly, there were large red scars littered along its length and in places it was obvious that a big enough chunk had been hacked off of Blaire to leave a dip in his flesh. 

Jeremy’s hair and clothing did not fair much better. He obviously had not cut his hair in a long time and the usually slicked back black locks were free and messy, left undone for some time by the look of it. The clothes, while fresh and clean, were just not right on Jeremy Blaire. Suits and nothing else were fit for the corporate man, but now he wore loose casual clothing that looked entirely too cheap for a man such as himself.

There was a heavy tiredness surrounding the once proud man. Eyes that Waylon was so accustomed to seeing staring down at him with distaste or ridicule, were now alert and anxious. Waylon wasn't sure Blaire could see it himself, the way he looked to every inch of the room in rapid succession, as if there was danger around ever corner. It was amazing how Blaire could look so familiar and so unlike himself in the same moment.

Honestly, the man would have to be missing limbs or bleeding out all over the floor to have looked worse. Waylon only had to glance at the bandages peeking out from under Blaire’s sleeves to know that he wasn’t far off that ‘worse’ mark.

At the end of it all, Waylon just couldn’t have imagined seeing Blaire like this. Not so much the injuries or the unkempt appearance – more just the air of vulnerability. The fact that Jeremy Blaire felt inexcusably _human_ , something about that made Waylon’s skin crawl. In all of his time blaming and loathing the man sitting in front of him, he’d never quite seen him as human. To Waylon, Jeremy Blaire had always fit into the same category as people like Gluskin or mad Frank – once human but not quite there anymore. 

Looking at him now, he was nothing but human. It was like an illusion had been shattered and Waylon didn’t have the foggiest what to do with the remaining shards.

“Is that really any of your fucking business, Park?” His voice still had not lost his venous bite however. Good to know some things never changed. Or terrible, actually yes – that was terrible to know. 

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed furiously on Waylon finally picking up on the man’s horrified expression. Perhaps he was not as impressive as Waylon remembered, but he was certainly still worth more than the little shit stain. It was Sinclair’s fault he looked this way, the rotten prick. 

Watching with cold eyes, Jeremy was surprised when Waylon shook off the stupid petrified look he’d been wearing for minutes now and tried to straighten himself up. Jeremy couldn’t remember a time when Waylon had tried to actively look strong or intimidating – it didn’t quite come across but the intention was there.

“If you’re going to be coming into my house and wanting my help in the middle of the night, then _yes_ , it is my business.” 

Again Jeremy was surprised. Waylon’s voice almost sounded firm, if he could just lose that slight anxious edge to the words it would almost be impressive. But as it was – Jeremy had to begrudgingly admit that it wasn’t half bad for the tech monkey. 

“I never asked for your help.” Jeremy spat back at him, refusing to admit that he might have been going to ask. The mere idea an insult. “I don’t _ask_ for anything. I demand.” 

“Then you can demand me not to call the police.” Jeremy’s blood ran cold. “And I’ll just go ahead and do it anyway.”

There was that choice again. The same choice he’d been fighting with since this whole thing started. It was very simple really – the police, Murkoff or Sinclair. Up until now he’d been leaning towards Sinclair but the memory of the man’s empty expression as his bones snapped under a hammer put that far from his mind. No longer an option. That bridge was thoroughly burned.

Murkoff was no better, they’d have him dead in a ditch and his body wouldn’t be found for years. The police meant a cell and most likely a sneaky death. Maybe an illness from poison in his food or a riot turned particularly nasty with only one casualty – Murkoff had their claws in deep and Jeremy had no doubt that even a jail cell would inevitably be a death sentence. 

Everywhere he looked there was nothing but death. His options were all becoming the same.

That was until he found Waylon. Maybe there was a fourth option presenting itself. Jeremy simply needed to find it and see just how far he was willing to go to get it. 

He must have been silent for too long because Waylon began to shift uncomfortably. The man must have been waiting for some kind of answer – what did he expect Blaire to do? Beg? If it took Sinclair hammers and ropes to get it, Waylon didn’t have a hope in the world. But…

“Don’t.” Jeremy muttered coldly. The word came out in a growl but it was a little too similar to a request. He said he made demands only but Jeremy knew that the situation was rapidly falling out of his hands. “Park, don’t you even think about it.” 

To his credit, Park didn’t even take a step away from Blaire’s icy voice. There was a time a glance was enough to have the man cower just a bit – Blaire missed that. There was another small shift, weight being passed from one leg to another as Park held onto the frail image of authority he’d built up. Jeremy didn't’ think too much of the action until it brought his attention down to Waylon’s leg, the one that he’d moved weight off of.

“What is that?” Perhaps he asked a little too harshly, too curiously, because Waylon immediately dove for the bottom of his pant’s leg to try and pull it down a bit more to conceal what Blaire had seen. Too little far too late. “Lose something at the asylum, Park?” The snide tone would not help his case in the long run but Jeremy couldn’t help himself. It felt smooth falling from his lips, an old vice he could still occasionally indulge in.

“Shut up.” Park seethed back, his retort would have been more effective had his face not flushed red. It seemed the missing limb was something of a sore spot for him.

With his hand still pressed idly over his bloody lip, just applying a little pressure as he waited it out, Jeremy leant back against the wall and studied Park. “I distinctly remember you being in one piece the last time I saw you in the asylum, Park.”

“Yeah? I remember you being all over the damn place.”

“Ooh, harsh.” Apparently Jeremy’s obvious amusement was not what Park had been going for with that remark and the man visibly deflated. Good to know that even like this Park couldn’t get the verbal upper hand.

“How are you alive…?” Park asked eventually, shoulders slumped in defeat. If Jeremy had to guess he’d say that the younger man didn’t want to talk with him. He probably knew it was stupid to waste his time and breath when he should be calling the police, but curiosity killed the cat and for Park it was no different.

Jeremy didn’t immediately answer. He thought about snapping at Park again, saying it was none of his concern how he was still breathing. But he thought better of it and instead fell silent. Jeremy knew that every way he could possibly answer that question ended with the name ‘Sinclair’ on his lips and he was not quite willing to let that slide just yet. 

Of course he could tell Park all about it, unload every frustrating moment or terrifying second onto the other man. But he didn’t. When Jeremy looked at Park’s face, that stupidly open face that looked at him waiting for something, he remembered the times Sinclair had spoken with him. The fondness that he had formed for the techie, even after he’d been sent to the lower levels, Riley had become closer with Park. 

The thought still made Jeremy smirk viciously. He had never quite forgotten the final day of control he’d had over the asylum. Waylon’s expression when he’d been caught trying to tell the world about them, still one of his fonder memories. But he also remembered the last order he’d been able to give Riley. 

“Did it sting?” Jeremy asked casually, diverting the conversation, avoiding Park’s question. He wasn’t ready to give that information up just yet, Park might just be sympathetic towards Sinclair and he simple did not need that right now. 

“Did what sting?” How Park could be so childishly baffled and easily pulled into a trap was still beyond Jeremy. 

His smile twisted cruelly, becoming something more familiar to his own face as he clarified. “When Riley busted your lip.” 

Park recoiled, just as Jeremy had expected him to. The wretched expression on his face was priceless; Blaire still applauded himself on his final use of the oldest Sinclair boy. It was almost a repeat of what had happened with David. Riley was a fool, getting close to anyone in the asylum when Jeremy had him wrapped so tightly around his finger. 

He hadn’t protested, hardly even raised his eyes to meet Jeremy’s gaze when he was told the situation. It was simple really; he could turn on Waylon or risk losing his brother forever. Of course by then he’d been missing for some time and Riley was at his wits end. All Blaire had to do was dangle the idea of saving his brother in front of Riley and he would have turned on anyone without question. 

Waylon was no exception to this rule.

Still Jeremy had enjoyed the mortified expression Park wore when he recognized Riley’s face. He must have seen the blank, impassive expression the guard had been wearing as he hauled the techie to his feet and personally helped drag him down into hell. Perhaps when Riley had hit Waylon it had actually hurt less then the initial betrayal.

Riley had an impressive track record when it came to destroying people’s trust. The list got longer with every day in the asylum, his little brother must have just been so _proud_.

“I’m calling the police.” This time it was Blaire who flinched, remembering exactly why he was meant to be on good behavior. Not antagonizing Park. 

The man straightened and went for the phone on the bedside table. Jeremy only had a vague thought in the back of his head about Park still having a landline, who used those anymore? But the rest of him was grappling for a way to convince Park not to touch the damn thing. After so many years of twisting people to his will this should not be hard – he was not rusty, he just was _not_. 

But in that exact moment, where he found himself lacking control over Park, Jeremy panicked. He didn’t have something in mind to say, no clever threat or promise at his disposal. No collateral or higher power to back him, all Jeremy had right now was himself and his fear. 

He did not want to die.

Jeremy didn’t want to die yet. 

“Park--” The name came out hoarse and frantic. In his desperation to keep Park from inadvertently sentencing him to death, Jeremy released his bloody mouth and reached out to snag the hem of Waylon’s shirt. “-- _please_!”

The word he’d spoken on instinct hung in the air uncomfortably. Park had stopped moving, seemingly frozen more by the single plea than Jeremy’s bloody hand. Even as humiliation washed over Jeremy, his hand only tightened on Park’s shirt. His arm was trembling, up over his shoulders and down his spine – his entire body shook. He was terrified. 

Jeremy had been many things, done many more – but terrified he’d only felt a handful of times. Most all of those times came after the asylum went to shit. He was afraid of Walrider, of Sinclair and now – in the most inexplicably stupid turn of events – he also feared Park. They all had the ability to end his life, but he hoped only two of them held the desire. Perhaps Waylon was different, remained unchanged from his time in the asylum – still knew how to be merciful.

Perhaps death would have been easier, less horribly embarrassing than asking Waylon-fucking-Park to be _merciful_. 

Then Park was looking at him, those big eyes of his looking like he’d just seen Jeremy grow a second head. If he had Park might have actually been less surprised. He didn’t say it out loud but Jeremy could see the question swimming in his eyes. ‘ _What happened to you_?’ 

Jeremy had a long list of things that had happened to him, but he wasn’t willing to give that knowledge away just yet, so instead of addressing the silent question hanging in the air, he simply tightened his grip on Waylon and repeated himself. 

“Please don’t call anyone.” 

As if he thought he must have imagined the first time the word ‘please’ slipped by Blaire, Waylon only looked more alarmed the second time it came out. Jeremy could count the number of times he’d honestly used the word please on his hands, probably on one hand if he was truthful. For a few more seconds they stayed like that, Waylon staring at Blaire like he was some otherworldly creature and Jeremy wishing very much that he could vanish up into the floor. 

It didn’t seem like Waylon currently had control of his own tongue, so Jeremy began to talk. He refused to register the babbling as what it really – a nervous spiel he had no control of.

“If you call the cops Murkoff is going to have my god damn head on a platter. I don’t know about you Park, but I don’t fancy dying in a cell because Murkoff had their dirty fucking hands in everything. I didn’t make it this far just to get murdered in some convenient accident!” It hadn’t started out too bad, familiar spiteful words coming to his mind but the longer Park remained silent, the less Blaire had control over those thoughts and words.

“Park, for god’s sake I’ve gone through enough shit already. Give me a fucking break already. Please just--!” 

“What do you expect me to do?” Park barked back in frustration, finally finding his tongue. “After all the shit you’ve gone and done…” 

Swearing on Park was a surprisingly endearing quality. Jeremy glanced up at him, ignoring how the blood on his hand and face had started to become sticky and reek of that familiar metallic tang. He wished it had not become so very familiar to him. 

“You…you stabbed me for pete’s sake!” Waylon continued, gesturing blindly at Blaire as if he still couldn’t quite believe it and somehow the frantic hand motions would make it sink in more. “Got me locked into the engine program, the whole asylum was your fault!”

That wasn’t true. Jeremy knew that Park needed to have someone to place blame on and maybe he really knew that the corporation more than the man, but to Waylon they might as well have been one in the same. For him Jeremy was the face of the great evil that had wronged him. But Jeremy didn’t build that place, he didn’t set it up, didn’t make the rules or pick the prisoners – he was just doing his job. 

Admittedly he took to his job with more glee than what was professional and perhaps he had abused his power once or twice – but he wasn’t Murkoff. That didn’t clean his hands of blood or shift the blame, but it had to mean something.

“It wasn’t.” Blaire answered flatly. His shift in tone must have jarred Park further off balance because he fell silent and was once again gaping at Jeremy. “I wasn’t in control.”

That admission stung more deeply and bitterly than Blaire could have ever expected. Control was a must, it was his one great joys in life and he’d worked so hard to cultivate the control he’d once held over the asylum – but ultimately it was about as paper thin as Murkoff’s charitable nature was. How could he be in control of anything when Murkoff was looming over his shoulder, demanding results, demanding efficiency and should he fail – death.

“You think I would have ended up any better off than you?” Jeremy continued bitterly. “You think I was somehow immune to ending up in the exact same fucking position as you? Like it would have turned out any different for me – I would have been dealt with exactly the same as Rick was. So yes! I did those things to you – yes I fucking did, because I didn’t want to die. I _still_ don’t want to die.” 

Park was silent. But that expression of shock was fading, slowly shifting into something weary. It seemed he believed what Blaire was saying but now he was doing something that Jeremy hadn’t banked on. Park was plotting.  
  
The look was so bizarre and foreign on the idiot techie’s face that Jeremy found himself just staring at it. Apparently he had changed in the asylum, maybe not like some others had, but there was a sharper edge to his calculating stare that even Jeremy had to appreciate. Briefly he thought back to the changes he’d seen in Sinclair, the ones that belonged to him – looked like Park had a few of his own. Blaire might have felt some twisted sense of pride had these new emotions and actions not directly harmed his chances of survival. Survival did seem to be a key theme and thought among those exposed to Murkoff’s horrors – Blaire and Park were not exempt from this trend.

“You want me to help you?” Jeremy was surprised with the tone Waylon adopted. It was not quite a comfort but there was something there. A lingering offer he couldn’t ignore. Park was willing to barter – that Blaire could work with.

“ _And_ you want something.” The tired executive retorted with a small huff of amusement, leaning back to look at Waylon properly again. No longer clinging to his shirt like a goddamn toddler.

“What is it? Money?” Sinclair’s motives again ran through Blaire’s head and a small icy stone dropped in his stomach. The hospital bills that Riley needed paid… Blaire was no longer there to give that funding. It probably wouldn't mean the man would die, maybe, probably. Jeremy shivered. 

Sebastian would kill him if he ever saw him again. Even if Riley didn’t die. 

Better not to follow that train of thought for the time being. If he put Sinclair far from his mind, maybe he would stop feeling so on edge. Half of him was still expecting the man to barge into his life at any moment and drag away him kicking and screaming. Yes, definitely best to avoid thinking about it.

“I want you to end Murkoff.” 

Blaire laughed, because honestly what else could he be expected to do when Park said something so incredibly, outrageously, undoable? Except Park didn’t flush or stutter, instead he just kept looking at Jeremy, and the longer he stared the quicker the laughter died in Blaire’s throat. 

A beat of silence. Oh. _Oh_. He was serious. 

Now it was his turn to gape at Park. The words he’d said were so simple yet somehow impossible to process properly. This was the same company that had gotten away with the things going down in the asylum for the better half of this decade. They’d essentially imprisoned people, tortured them and even forced completely sane individuals into cells on the premise that working there made them insane. Even if that had been the case the company should have been sunk for having work conditions that could lead to insanity so frequently – instead Murkoff worked its way around with nothing more than words, ready funds and more than a few corrupt individuals ready to bend the rules and their morals for a pretty penny. 

And here he was, a broken man sitting on the floor of someone he’d tried to kill more than once, being told he should somehow cripple that unstoppable monster of a corporation. Excuse him for feeling a little cynical. 

Then, as was typical of the Park he knew, the man started to ramble. It was a nervous habit it seemed Waylon hadn’t quite grown out of. 

“Look,” He began, shifting weight off his artificial leg. “After all that…that _shit_ that went down in the asylum – Murkoff got thrown into the spotlight.” 

“I mean, I tried to help. Showed them everything I’d recorded – got my family put into protection just at a chance to take down the bastard.” Ah, so all of Blaire’s efforts to kill Park and silence him with his stupid camcorder were for nothing – good to know. Trying very dearly not to let old habits violently surge to the surface, Blaire kept his mouth firmly shut and continued to allow Park to babble. 

“But they’re just so big, and before I knew it there were all these people claiming the legitimacy of the video was shoddy. Saying it had to be a hoax, there was no way something like that happened – ghosts and such. Pretty soon everything I’d given them was useless and they burnt everything down to try and cover it up.” 

Park looked about ready to crack, the stress of what he was saying had obviously been taking its toll on the former computer technician. Perhaps Jeremy understood that feeling, it could be rather overwhelming the first time you realised how truly and utterly insignificant you were when placed up against Murkoff’s authority. Perhaps if Park had presented his evidence before the age of photoshop and glorified ghost hunting teenagers – it might have held more sway. But as it was, anyone could pick apart the footage, find faults in the ‘plot’ so to say. Something that was fake could be made real with enough effort and similarly, though less often, something real could be made to be seen as fake with the same skilled hands.

Unfortunately for Waylon, his hands were skilled with neither falsifying the truth nor debunking a farce. He was not that sly, poor, pitiful, Park – too good a person to get his way. 

Jeremy could help him with that. 

“What do you expect me to do Park?” The offer was clear in his tone, Jeremy was willing to be swayed if the next thing out of Park’s mouth was not utter rubbish. God forbid.

The moment that Park really saw his chance was obvious, his eyes seemed to light up in the dimly lit room and a look of hopeful disbelief played out on his face. Jeremy couldn’t help but think he looked like a child wearing that expression. 

“You worked there longer than I did. Your name is all over Murkoff, you are important to them--” Jeremy snorted. “ _\--were_ important to them. If you came out and testified against them it would give more credibility to my claims. It’d be a real blow, even if you never mentioned the more…unusual stuff. Just their embezzlement would be enough to get them looked into again. You’d be the last nail in the coffin!” 

“Didn’t I show up on that god damn recording of yours Park? I’m hardly a sound voice of reason judging by that alone.” Especially if he was going to get locked up for attempted murder. He wondered if the footage of him lunging at Park would be as satisfying as it had been in the moment. Probably not. 

“Well…not all of it made it out in one piece. I don’t know how durable you can expect a camcorder to be, I think it captured just enough everything considered.” How one person could sound so hopeful about all this was still rather beyond Blaire’s comprehension. 

It would be a lie to say this was a well thought out idea and Jeremy had a number of different complaints and belittling comments to make – but for the time being this was another one of those situations that left him without a real alternative. It was this or have Park throw his ass to the police. In a sense it was impressive that Park was even offering this deal, disregarding everything that had gone down between them personally, Jeremy was still a criminal at this point. The thought of Waylon Park housing a known criminal was, in itself, a beautiful concept to him. 

“You want me to blow the whistle?” Jeremy mused, unable to help but find this bitterly amusing. “Alright, Park. Looks like you got yourself a deal.” 

 

…

…

 

Park had been considerably easy to win over in hindsight. 

Or perhaps it was dealing with Lisa that gave Waylon such a favorable temperament. Jeremy had been lucky not to have his nose broken the second Lisa laid eyes on him. There was hardly even a breath between the woman spotting him and raising her fist. No surprise, no questions, no fright – just instantaneous action. If he had not been so piss scared she was going to dig his grave with her bare hands, Jeremy might have found that quick reaction to be admirable. 

Lisa also was not as easily consoled by Waylon and Jeremy kept himself glued to the back of the kitchen while the couple, talked slashed argued it out. Waylon insisted that this was the best they could do, while Lisa seemed more focused on just how much pain he ought to be in. The argument lasted roughly fifteen minutes but Jeremy felt they’d already reached a verdict within the first five and the rest was just old grievances coming out. 

Ultimately Lisa Park did not dig his grave and his nose remained thankfully unbroken.

However it did lead to a very long amount of time spent standing uncomfortably in the kitchen, listening to two people he’d firmly placed beneath himself in the past, talk about his future. Jeremy was willing to bet good money that he’d experienced every ironic, humiliating thing the world could throw at him by this point. 

When it appeared no one would be going to bed any time soon, Waylon announced they all needed a hot drink and immediately went about making said hot beverage without even asking what anyone wanted. It was possible it didn’t actually matter when nerves were strung this tightly, but Jeremy wouldn’t put it past the Parks to automatically know what their significant other would want. As for himself, he was hardly in a position to complain. 

It was odd. Jeremy sat decidedly silent at the family dinging table, staring down at the protective sheet they’d put over it just to occupy himself with looking at the odd little groves in it for a while. He had thought it strange that Park would know exactly what Lisa would like or want in this situation but rationalized the some of the best assistance in the world had that same skill. But it was just that, a skill. He refused to think Park had that under his belt, so Jeremy could only assume it was the sort of knowledge that came about when you cared about and focused very closely on one person’s desires and needs for long enough.

As he thought about it, Jeremy was all geared up to completely bastardise Park for being so sickly sweet, only to realize this was hardly the first time he’d seen someone do this. Jeremy’s hands clenched into fists under the table out of Lisa Park’s sight when he remembered the number of times Sinclair had brought him exactly what he needed without being told. However subtle he tried to keep his change in posture, Lisa was a sharp eyed woman and it wasn’t long before she picked up on his tense demeanor. 

“What happened to you?” Lisa asked abruptly, just when Jeremy had felt confident that silence would be his saving grace. 

“Pardon?” A polite word thrown out with such a sardonic tone was no longer a polite word. Under the table his fists remained clenched. 

“You look like shit.” Eloquent as always. Then she went on to clarify. “Different shit.” 

“I was unaware there were different brands.” Perhaps it was not Blaire’s best choice to be so dry with the woman that would more likely skin him alive than turn him over to the authorities. Hopefully her hatred for Murkoff outweighed her distaste for him. 

Lisa stared at him for a while. A sharp, pointed gaze that made him increasingly uncomfortable and irritated. She was looking over him, trying to find something that was out of place in his face. 

For a maddening second Jeremy became concerned that by just looking at him she’d unravel all his secrets. Like she could see past every chosen silence and see exactly what it was he was running from. His sins had never bothered him, but weakness most certainly did and being transparent to this woman was a weakness he could not afford. 

Whatever she found was enough to spur her into speaking again. Jeremy did not know what it was she saw, but when she spoke next there was less venom and more weariness in the words.

“When Waylon came home.” She began guardedly, casing a glance to the kitchen where Park was boiling the kettle. “He looked a bit like that.”

The comment about Waylon always looking like shit was on the tip of his tongue but Blaire thought better of it and swallowed it back down before he could enrage Lisa again. Instead he settled for a simple prompting, “Like what exactly?” 

“Like he was terrified of everything.” Lisa replied evenly, staring hard at him again. “Last time I saw you, you looked like everything ought to be scared of you. That isn’t what you look like now.” 

“Yeah, well.” Jeremy shifted uncomfortably, not bothering to keep the spite from his words. “That shit hole changed everyone.” 

She was still staring at him. Lisa didn’t say anything for a while but the look on her face suggested that Jeremy had said something she found to be damning. The word ‘what’ was just about to come out of his mouth when Lisa smiled dryly. 

“Everyone, huh?” 

His throat seemed to grow tight at the simple hum. Lisa Park had always been slyer than he gave her credit for. Beautiful, clever and terrifying – how exactly Waylon had managed to marry her was a mystery to the world. The way she mouthed the simple word back at him, it felt like he’d somehow spilled his guts to her. Like she _knew_ , somehow she’d really been able to pick through his brain and see just what he kept to himself. Like she might somehow find Sinclair in his head.

And god forbid if he wasn’t relieved for the first time in his life when Park broke into a conversation.

Both he and Lisa looked up to see Park struggling over with three cups of what smelt like hot chocolate. Had he not been so relieved to simply have a reprieve from Lisa’s prying; he would have berated Waylon’s choice of drink. Mrs. Park seemed to take this as a prompt to ease off, at least in regards of that particular conversation. 

“So you want to stay here.” She drawled, holding the no doubt scalding cup between her hands as if she didn’t feel any of it. There was a curse and mocking comment somewhere in there but Jeremy did not dare touch it. He also remained pointedly silent, Lisa had words she most definitely wanted to say and his input was likely unrequired and just as unwanted.

If the vicious grin that crawled onto the woman’s face at his silence was anything to go by, that had been either a brilliant choice or a damning one. Park might have struck a deal but Jeremy knew the look of a real danger, he’d seem similar expressions on the faces of other power players and he’d even worn it himself frequently. 

“Means you’re going to work.” 

What exactly did this woman expect him to do? He was hardly a man built for manual labor, especially anything that fell into the domestic area of work. A quick glance around the house and Jeremy found himself mostly looking at angles that were far too soft and rounded, everything looked gentle as opposed to the straight, clean cut, hard edges he was accustomed to. But something that surprised him was how clean it all was. He’d expected more mess, kids toys and unidentifiable stains on the ceiling, but the family’s home looked prime and proper. 

Jeremy only needed to glance down towards Waylon’s leg; the one he knew was no longer flesh and bone. He could imagine Park being cooped up for hours in this place with little else to do besides clean and care for his two boys. Even without work, somehow he remained ever busy. Without work Jeremy had been reduced to simply existing these last few weeks. Perhaps work was not such a terrible idea, keep his hands busy and his mind blank, that was something he may be able to accomplish for a while.

“Until I can get into contact with the same people that helped us out the first time.” Waylon cut in, offering the words almost like some sort of comfort. With Lisa in the room it was difficult for Park not to play good cop it seemed. “Once they understand the details, we’ll get that statement from you and from there…well we’ll go from there.”

It did tend to get a little hazy after the initial plan but Jeremy knew he’d have to work himself a deal. Play the victim card a bit if he had to, just to avoid jail time for his own crimes under the Murkoff name. He could do that, he’d just have to swallow a bit more pride a little more fear – and maybe there was actually an outcome to this where he lived and stayed out of jail. It was a slim chance but it was a far cry better than anything else he had. 

Even with all of the logical explanation as to how exactly he had come to be here, Jeremy’s brain still struggled to process the simple scene of he sitting in the Park family home, with a cup of hot chocolate wedged firmly between his hands. There was something very surreal to this and he felt very much like a man out of place. 

He wasn’t sure how long the three of them sat there, but Waylon eventually moved again. The soft sound of his chair shuffling back briefly caught Blaire’s attention and he realised that he hadn’t touched the drink placed in front of him. Even the outside ceramic mug between his hands had started to cool he’d been simply staring at it so long. 

When Waylon returned, he did not immediately go to his seat to continue the heavy silence, but instead he approached Jeremy’s seat. The young man held something out to Jeremy and it took him a few seconds to even realise something was being offered and a few more to recognize what it was.

“For your face.” Waylon clarified, holding the damp cloth he’d gotten up a little more. Jeremy could still feel the remains of his bloody lip caked on his face. Most of it had flaked off but there was still enough to be a bother. When Jeremy did not immediately take it Waylon frowned a bit. “Come on, take it.” He encouraged and Jeremy laughed. 

It was a dry, disbelieving chuckle that escaped Jeremy. This was going beyond surreal and entering territory that was more like ridiculous or cruel. Jeremy wanted to be angry, wanted to snarl at Park for treating him like he was pitiable. But the house was warm, the drink between his hands sweet and the cloth he was being offered, a relief. It all felt too soft and smooth, this type of lifestyle was so different to what he knew. It came close to the way he’d been living the past few weeks, that strange feeling of someone trying to help, but this felt far more gentle than Sinclair’s agenda had been. 

If the Parks thought his reaction was unusual, they kept it to themselves. And Waylon waited patiently for him to take the cloth and begin to wash away the patches of dried blood that remained. The coolness of the fabric was a relief on his still sore jaw, and Jeremy thought that if he wasn’t so blindingly furious at Park for having hit him in the first place, he might have commended the man’s left hook. When Waylon took his seat again, the silence continued but Jeremy didn’t feel time slipping by anymore. Things moved slowly but he didn’t dare try to rush it.

Then, there was a second movement. Lisa stood from her seat, glided across to her husband’s side and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Waylon glanced up to her and Jeremy couldn’t help but notice the look in his eyes, it was something odd. It looked almost like the expression he’d seen people direct at their life’s work. Something strong and infatuated, but there was no hard edge or malice to it, just like everything else in this home – it was soft and tender. Jeremy had no idea what to call it.

Lisa murmured something to Waylon. Jeremy didn’t strain to hear but he knew he caught something along the lines of her giving them time or space, something to that effect. Then with a small squeeze on his shoulder, Lisa left. Briefly Jeremy saw her glance his way and he couldn’t determine if that look was a warning for him to behave or something concerned. Whatever it was, it was fleeting and Lisa vanished upstairs. It only really hit Jeremy that he’d been left alone with Park again after that.

“Blaire.” Waylon murmured his name quietly, as if speaking too loudly would be rude. “If we’re going to do whatever… _this_ is, we are going to have to talk about it.” 

Much like how Waylon seemed to intuitively know what Lisa would like to drink, it seemed that she knew what he needed in a different sense. Jeremy hadn’t considered it, but Waylon must have needed to talk about the asylum. To find some sort of common ground with the man he blamed for all his hardships. To humanize Jeremy in a sense. 

He’d started to regard Jeremy a little less fearfully after he had admitted aloud that he had no control. There was no way to be in control when Murkoff loomed over you. Waylon needed more however. It would never be enough to trust Jeremy, but if they had a common enemy that would be the first common ground they’d ever found. So for now that would have to be enough.

Knowing this, Jeremy finally raised the lukewarm cup of hot chocolate and let out a little sigh. “Fine, where do you want to start?”

So they began to swap horror stories, and Jeremy couldn’t help but notice that Waylon seemed accustomed to this set up.

 

 

…  
…

 

 

“No! That’s not how you hold it.”

A month. A whole damn _month_ had passed, and Jeremy was still alive. Even more surprising was the fact he was still living with Park. They’d made up the guest room for him, which in itself had seemed strangely kind of them; a couch would have been sufficient all things considered. Lisa hadn’t been lying when she said she wanted to put him to work. She went to work during the day and Waylon looked after the boys. Getting them primed for school in the morning and then he became scarce during most days. Always off doing some sort of errands or small jobs he could get away with. 

There was some sort of weekly meeting he had to go to and had Jeremy been more interested in Waylon’s nonsense, he might have wondered why Waylon was so damn tight lipped about what he was doing on those days. But as it was, Jeremy _didn’t_ care about Waylon’s bullshit in the slightest. Provided it did not affect him in any way and a coffee meeting was hardly important to him.

That left Jeremy to the house and usually Lisa, the sharp woman she was, left him a list of things to do. Some were outrageous or bordering on impossible. Of course this system of living had only come about gradually. At first Waylon hovered around him all but constantly. It was like having a shadow again and there were moments where Jeremy almost mistook Waylon’s looming for the more familiar shadow he had gotten used to. Almost – Waylon was never quite as stifling.

Jeremy wasn’t completely sure of what they thought he was going to do if they took their eyes off of him. He had literally followed them home like a lame pup and snuck his way into the house – he was hardly about to bail on them. Stealing anything was pointless in this home there was nothing of great enough value and Jeremy was in no position to leave the home or do anything malicious. He needed that spare room and so he was on his best behavior. They eventually seemed to pick up on this, ignoring how much he glowered at them when they lingered, and Jeremy was left to go about his chores list in peace. 

Except for on the weekend.

The first time the children had stayed home for the two days, Jeremy had been placed in the awkward position of dealing with the entire Park family. The boy that had inadvertently lead him here, had been positively thrilled to see Blaire, recognizing him as the stranger from the market place. Jeremy had to make a deal with the boy to keep that little tidbit of information between them – he’d stolen four chocolate squares just to secure to the boy’s silence. The kid knew how to bargain and worked up from the originally offered two – Jeremy thought it amusing that a child showed more promise than his father did. 

It was currently the fourth weekend he’d had at the Park household and Jeremy had allowed himself out in the open for a while. Usually he kept close to the house, still weary of Murkoff somehow getting wind of him, but the boys were home for the day and there was simply no way to keep them locked up indoors when the sun was shinning. Lisa still had work until midday on Saturday and Waylon was working on the computer. As such the role of baby sitter ended up being passed onto Jeremy – with Waylon keeping an eye on him from his workstation at the window of course.

Jeremy had never been well versed in children’s games, and finding things to keep young Jackie and Noel entertained was increasingly frustrating and difficult. Noel was the easier of the two, younger and easily entertained with looking at creepy crawlies in the grass. Jackie – despite his sharpness, which earned Jeremy’s approval – was more difficult to handle. Thankfully he did have one saving grace – the boy could not turn down a challenge. So Jeremy had demanded that Park fish out a golf club or something that looked similar enough, and declared that there was simply no possible way that the boy would ever be able to hold it, swing it or play correctly. 

His pride was more than enough to get Jackie interested in proving Jeremy wrong, and so here they were on the front lawn – practicing how to swing a golf club.

“Well how do _you_ hold it?” Jackie demanded furiously, looking like he was just about ready to try and snap the rusty old golf club over his knee. Jeremy mused that it might just break in that poor condition, that or he’d have to explain to Park how his son’s knee cap had broken on his watch. 

“Less like a bat, more like a golf club.” Jeremy retorted, every word dripping with condescension. Somewhere at a safe distance from his fiery brother, Noel watched with idle interest. Eventually he’d want a turn as well and Jeremy highly doubted he could hold the club at all – why Park only had a driver of all things was baffling. 

“I’m good at base ball.” That argument was hardly sound and Jeremy felt that Jackie was sulking. 

“Good, because you’re obviously not at golf.” That comment got Jackie’s face all screwed up in anger and before Jeremy could advise against it, the kid had swung the golf club violently. The head of the club hit the ground and Jeremy watched with faint amusement as the boy tore up a chunk of earth with the ferocity of his swing. The slab actually went flying an impressive distance before smashing into the fence and sliding dejectedly back to the earth it’d been uprooted from. 

“Ha!” Jackie declared, turning to look at Jeremy with a victorious grin on his face. “Told you I was good.”

“Really not how golf is played.” Sighing, Jeremy took one look at the boy’s stance and rolled his eyes. The boy looked like he’d make a better footballer than he would a golfer.

“Golf requires some restraint.” Jeremy began to instruct while taking the club from Jackie’s hands and giving a single practice swing. It was terribly old and the build was not to his taste but Jeremy’s form was not rusty in the slightest. “You have to get the ball to do what you want it to, go where you want it to go. Sometimes that means being gentle, rather than using brute force.” He handed the club back to Jackie and began to reprimand him on his terrible grasp. It took some tweaking but eventually Jackie was holding the club less like an axe and more like the golf club it was meant to be handled as. 

“Your father should have taught you this.” He added with a lamenting groan when Jackie very nearly took up another bit of the lawn. It was an improvement that he missed, so Jeremy would take it as a victory. He still told Jackie to put less force behind it, aim above the grass as if he were hitting the invisible ball. 

“He taught me how to swing a bat.” Jackie grunted before swinging again, this time a little less roughly. “He also showed how to swim.” He continued, taking another swing that was a touch higher, more like he might actually make contact with the ball had it been there. “And dad taught me how to ride a bike! You know, dad stuff.”

“Right, dad stuff.” Jeremy echoed dryly. His droll tone must have been of more interest to Jackie than the practice was and the boy took a moment to look at him curiously.

“Didn’t your dad teach you?” 

The mere thought got Jeremy looking at the kid like he was a complete fool – the same look he gave Jackie’s father. His father had not in fact showed him how to do any of those things. Base ball was not on his skills list, swimming was a very low on that same list and riding a bike was hardly an important skill. He could, but only because he’d had a bike and what was the point of owning something if you couldn’t use it. He’d taught himself, no need for the old man to get involved. Come to think of it, he may had experienced quiet a few more scuffs and bruises during that learning period – but no more than what was normal he was sure. 

“Lets just focus on making you a not a terrible golf player.” Jeremy finally decided not to give a real answer to Jackie’s queries and the whole procedure started over again. 

As smart as the boy was compared to his father, Jackie still suffered from those strange, sentimental questions that people seemed so fond of. He didn’t need his old man to teach him anything, he was more than capable of doing that for himself. His father brought him into the world and kept him alive until Jeremy was ready to survive himself and then sent him away to school – the man’s role was fulfilled. 

Despite this Jeremy did find himself observing the Park family a little too frequently. The boys were prone to rattling off pointless facts about their day and asking Waylon the strangest things, and stranger still was the idea that Waylon seemed to indulge them. A lot of the time it almost seemed that Waylon enjoyed the boy’s distracting him from his coding work to chatter happily about the days they’d had and the ones to come. 

Jeremy thought this was all rather bizarre, but he remembered very clearly the day that Jackie had come home from school in a wretched state. He’d been trying not to cry, putting on a brave face as he told his father that some little shit had picked on Noel. He’d very firmly asserted that Noel was his little brother – only he could do the bullying! Jeremy had been in the kitchen at the time so when Waylon ushered the scraped up boy in to wash his grazes and gets some bandaids, Jeremy found him in the strange position of sharing the same living space as a child on the brink of tears. He could not remember being here before.

Curious and at a loss for what else to do, Jeremy had asked Jackie about the situation. With Waylon out of the room he felt comfortable asking out right. It was amusing to see Jackie check to make sure that his father was really out of earshot before turning to look up at Jeremy with the cheekiest smile he’d ever seen on a child’s face. Then with a bold smugness that Jeremy thought was reserved for adults, Jackie told him that he’d made the other boy cry. 

The words were whispered like a nasty secret and Jeremy couldn’t help but indulge Jackie. He played along, asking just how Jackie had managed that. The cheeky brat had replied that it was easy, he knew that the other kid was prone to bed wetting and threatened to scream it out loud to all the other children if he made fun of his brother. He then added with a beaming expression, that he did just what Jeremy suggested – exploit a weakness he knew of.

That had been a new feeling – pride in someone else. 

When Waylon returned with bandaids and gentle comments, Jeremy had watched with silent amusement as Jackie put on a good show for his father. With the scrapes taken care of and Jackie now smug with his accomplishments, the night had progressed normally enough. Jeremy did make a small note to himself however, should that little shit’s name pop up again he’d have to give Jackie something a little more substantial to deal with a bully. It was simply in his best interest to keep the kids happy, happy kids, happy Parks – continued room to sleep in.

He most certainly didn’t care if Jackie got bullied or not. That would be absurd.  
That thought was firmly pushed into the area of his brain that harbored all ‘absurd’ thoughts. There right along side with anything that had to do with Sinclair.

It took them about half an hour before Jackie really started to show fatigue and Jeremy was mildly satisfied with his progress. 

“We’ll get that daft father of yours to pick up some golf balls next weekend. Then you can show me if you can actually hit the ball.” There wasn’t a scrap of praise in those words but Jackie still positively glowed. Jeremy never thought that maybe the kid had enjoyed their practice and was looking forward to the next weekend. He simply took the boy’s good mood as pride in his achievement on moving from having no real ball to try and hit to actually being given a shot.

“Jackie, Noel!” All three glanced up upon hearing Waylon calling for his boys. “Come on, your mother’s bringing lunch.” If a challenge was the second best thing to motivate Jackie, then food was the first. In an instant he was dashing up towards the front door, abandoning the club where it fell in his haste. Jeremy followed after, picking up the discarded club as he trailed behind.

“Noel.” He added more firmly when the younger boy seemed too distracted by the ants he’d found to come in and eat. “Hurry up.” Noel somehow always looked tired to Jeremy but he got himself up and wandered over to join him.

Thinking that was the end of it Jeremy turned to continue back towards the house, only to come to a jarring halt when he felt a tiny hand slip into his. Alarmed he glanced down at Noel who only blinked back up at him in that silent content way of his. His first thought was to pull his hand away, but then the brat might start bawling, so begrudgingly Jeremy let Noel hold his hand as they walked to the house.

“Noel, I--” Waylon had reappeared to call for his slower child a second time, only to see Jeremy leading the boy by the hand. Park just stared at Jeremy in a way that had become very familiar to him. Sometimes Waylon would look at him like he’d just done seen impossible, and for whatever reason this time that embarrassed Jeremy.

As he passed Waylon by the door, Jeremy fixed him with a very pointed glower. “Say nothing.” He snarled under his breath and continued inside, taking Noel to the family dinning area. He’d been content to dump the kid there and go somewhere else, to be anywhere but with the Park family.

Lisa caught sight of them the second they entered and for a terrifying second Jeremy thought he was about to lose the hand that Noel was holding. Thankfully Lisa did not physically lash out at him but she did call Noel away, over to the table. Letting out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been hanging onto, Jeremy turned away to find a place to put the club.

“Where are you going?” Lisa demanded in that sharp way of hers, causing Jeremy to tense up in alarm.

“What do you mean, where am I going?” It was difficult not to add a rude comment onto the end of that. He valued his tongue and Lisa might just cut it out.

“Lunch is here, Dummy.” She sounded very much like she wanted to use a more offensive word but there were children present. “Sit. Eat.” Lisa demanded, laying out a fifth plate for him and Jeremy was too shocked to really refuse. Shocked and hungry.

This would be the first time he actually sat down and ate with the Park family. Jeremy figured he ought to take this as some sort of peace offering and so he sat down to eat lunch with them.

 

 

…  
…

 

 

While doing one of his more favored chores, washing up, Jeremy was interrupted by an anxious looking Waylon. Honestly he tried to ignore Park, wait it out until the man was ready to speak while he fidgeted in the doorway. It lasted about five minutes, where Jeremy simply continued with the washing and Waylon struggled to muster up the courage to speak.

Jeremy was deep in his thoughts about how pathetic the Parks were to not have a working washing machine. Everyone in the house had taken to trying to fix the damn thing but after they’d inadvertently made it spite black suds, it was decided they’d just get a new one. For the time being Jeremy was washing plates. At night Jackie would help him and Noel would sit on a stool, wiping the plates and cups dry. Those little sessions were particularly amusing, because Jackie seemed to hate the chore almost as much as he loved gushing about his day to a less than interested Jeremy. It was the only chance he got to do it, so he begrudgingly did the dishes. Slowly of course, which annoyed Jeremy, but it was a small price to pay for having a second set of hands. Jeremy liked to think that Jackie would have made a good employee one day.

But not for Murkoff. _Never_ for Murkoff. 

Trying to ignore how furious and uncomfortable the thought of Jackie working for Murkoff made him, Jeremy focused intently on a small sticky bit of something on a plate. So much so that he forgot about Park standing there and hearing him clear his throat damn near startled Jeremy. Realizing that he’d forgotten Park was still standing there like a fretting school girl, Jeremy sighed a quiet curse and turned slightly to acknowledge him with the soapy plate still in his hands.

“What?” He demanded shortly, and Waylon most definitely flinched.

“W-Well…” He began uneasily. “We’re having friends over tonight and I just thought you might like to know. I mean I don’t know if you want to be around and it might be uncomfortable.” 

Jeremy lofted a single brow at Park. “Are you going to lock me under the stairs?”

“Did you jut reference Harry Potter?” 

“I’m a corporate bastard, Park. Not a god damn alien.” He must never know that Jeremy had never watched Harry Potter in all his life. But the boys liked it and so he caught bits and pieces.

Shaking off whatever insult or amusement he might have gained from that comment, Waylon gave Jeremy a look that was equal parts pleading and stern.

“Look, I’m only giving you a heads up because I can’t see any part of this going down easily with you.” Jeremy would have contentedly hid up in his room if he’d been told guests were coming by anyone else, but Park danced around it and worded everything in such a way that made Jeremy want to step on his toes. So he figured he’d meet Waylon’s friends and see just how uncomfortable it would make him. 

“I’m asking you to be nice.” Waylon finished with a frustrated sigh. “That’s all. It’s almost six, so they’re--” 

“You decided to tell me this just before your guests arrived?” Jeremy asked derisively. “That’s ill thought out even for you, Park.”

“I didn’t think of it until now, I just thought--!” For some reason Waylon seemed rather distressed about this. Did he think Jeremy would just be flat out rude to strangers? Jeremy may not be the sweetest flower in the garden but he was a far cry from uncivilized. He could get through meeting strangers and small talk easily enough – it was easy to fake sincerity. 

“I just thought I should give you some warning.” He continued miserably and something in the back of Jeremy’s head began to swing red flags furiously. Something about this was just a little off. “So that you don’t say something inappropriate.” Definitely red flags.

Jeremy quietly and quickly ran over all the possible people that Waylon might have brought over. A small ridiculous part of him suggested that maybe it would be Murkoff or some sort of official – but even Waylon was not that suicidal so the thought was quickly discarded. 

“Park, exactly who did you invite over?” This was not his home, Jeremy had no say in who Waylon invited inside – but sometimes Waylon reacted in ways that suggested otherwise. Like the guilty act he was currently preforming.

“Well I…” Too little too late, Jeremy sighed when he heard a knock at the door. Waylon straightened and called a quick answer back to the door. He then looked imploringly back at Jeremy and it looked like he was tossing up between a number of different pleas in his head. Finally the poor techie settled on. “Be nice.” 

Then Park vanished out the kitchen door and into the hallway, to answer the door. Lisa must have been upstairs, most likely getting ready for their guests and Jeremy wondered if Park had been this untimely in telling her about their guests. 

Figuring he was practically done with the dishes, Jeremy pulled the plug and began cleaning himself and the sink up while keeping an ear out for Waylon’s voice. It was easy to hear him stumbling over his apologies about the delay. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Waylon laughed in that meek way of his. “Thanks for coming over, did you pick up the order okay?”

Take out food then. That was fine, Jeremy had come to have a new appreciation for fast food which he had never indulged in when he was still with Murkoff. It seemed beneath him at the time but now it was easy, quick and surprisingly good in just how bad it must have been for him to eat.

“It’s fine Waylon.” That answering voice was annoying, Jeremy thought idly while lifting plates up into the cupboard they belonged in. “We got it, are you sure they don’t know your order off heart by now?” The more he heard that light voice filtering in through the ajar door, the more Jeremy felt his teeth grind. It was so annoying, infuriatingly so. That voice was so agitating and he couldn’t pinpoint why it annoyed him on such a base level, it was like-- Hold on a second. 

“Well…maybe.” Waylon was admitting sheepishly and Jeremy heard the door pushing forward a bit more and sets of feet moving inside.

“I’m just teasing. Relax, its nice of you to invite us over.” The world must have hated him. Jeremy damn near dropped the plate he was putting away because it just couldn’t be. He had to be hearing that wrong.

In an effort to reassure himself that he’d become delusional, Jeremy left the sink, ignoring the suds still on his arms and hands as he dashed out into the hallway. The conversation died away in his ears but the buzz of two annoying voices were still talking as Jeremy all but slid into the hallway and into view. The very second that he made an appearance, it seemed that all three of the people at the door became aware of him. 

Waylon looked at him with both alarm and grief, like he wished he could hide Jeremy away before everything went to hell. Jeremy was beginning to feel that as well as he saw who their guests were. Standing in the doorway, looking right at him with the same surprise that was on Waylon’s face – were the Sinclair boys. 

Jeremy saw the exact moment when it sank in for Sebastian that he was looking at Jeremy-god-damn-Blaire, the man’s surprised withered away and his eyes narrowed on Jeremy. 

“Oh.”


	13. Friend of my Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well in hindsight this could have gone a lot worse.

It was no exaggeration to say that someone could have heard a pin drop.

Waylon looked between all of them he might somehow be able to diffuse the situation before it really started to blow. Jeremy, for his part was completely frozen, staring straight at the set of mismatched eyes that bore right back into him. Having not looked at the man in roughly a month, Jeremy found himself being alarmed by just how vivid the burn marks seemed. Had they always stretched that far across his face or seemed so inflamed? 

Thankfully it didn’t look like Sinclair planned to move any time soon. It all transpired in a short collection of very tense seconds, seeing one another and registering what their presence meant – now they’d just have to see what needed to happen from there.

Then just as it seemed that Sinclair was about to open his mouth to say something – probably something damning – the oldest brother apparently found his ability to move again.

Something akin to nostalgia came barreling into Blaire as Riley practically leapt in front of his younger brother, pushing the blonde back behind him so he could stand protectively over him. Riley all but bared his teeth as he stared at Jeremy and the former executive found himself distantly remembering looking forward to the day that Riley Sinclair would toss that look at him. 

Of course back then he’d had a hundred hands ready to hurl the man into a cell after he saw the expression – right now it was more likely that Riley would attempt to strangle Jeremy with his one remaining hand.

The empty space where Riley Sinclair’s right arm used to be was daunting in itself and the man’s other long-standing injuries were no better. Three deep scars ran along his left cheek, very nearly reaching his eye and with the hand thrown out to shield his little brother, Jeremy noticed he was missing his ring finger.

How many of these injuries had been caused by the Walrider? Jeremy’s own lasting scars seemed to throb in sympathy even as the man himself felt nothing for Riley’s poor state. To his credit, Riley did not so much as flinch when he laid eyes on Jeremy, one would think after all the suffering he’d purposefully shoved onto the man that he would have at least cowered a bit. Right out of a coma and he was ready to fight again – he was tenacious, Jeremy would give him that much.

Although the sentiment was pointless, it was more likely that Riley’s shielding stance would keep Jeremy safer than it did the monster he was trying to protect.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?” It seemed Riley hadn’t become any more elegant with his speech during his long sleep.

“Riley…” Sinclair tried to speak up, to calm his brother most likely out of concern for his health rather than anything else. Missing an arm and being in a coma must have been cause enough to concern Sebastian enough to try and keep his brother calm.

However the older brother didn’t seem ready to hear a single word out of Sebastian about this, his glare was being fixed between Waylon and Blaire in equal measure and poor Park looked at a loss for what to say. He should have known better than to expect this to go over well. 

“No.” Riley snarled back at his brother who didn't so much as blink under his older brother’s rage. “He shouldn’t be here. Not after all the shit he’s pulled.” 

Jeremy was positive he was the only one that saw the way Sebastian’s eyes flashed. After all he had quite an extensive knowledge on exactly how much Jeremy had done and even more so on what he’d been through. Jeremy would have argued he’d been punished enough.

“Waylon!” Riley turned to look at Park, who did not only blink but also flinched rather violently under Riley’s stare. Seeing the reaction, Riley’s tone and posture immediately softened, and although there was still fury crackling just under the surface, he did not raise his voice when he spoke again. “You can’t really think this is okay.” 

Park shifted, moving weight from his flesh foot to the one made of metal, a nervous habit he’d picked up. But there was no immediate answer; it was no easy task for anyone to explain why Jeremy Blaire being there was not the biggest insult to injury of all time. Waylon had housed him for a month and made that deal with him and Sebastian had him prisoner for months with his own little deal. 

No person here was entirely dirt free – except for maybe Riley and even he was probably still trying to wash the proverbial blood off his hands.

Jeremy couldn’t not comment on that. 

“Harsh.” He drawled, rather enjoying the way he suddenly had all of Riley’s attention on him again. “Considering what you did to Mr. Park’s face last time you two met.”

This time it was Riley that flinched and Jeremy felt that he’d managed to see all three versions of that reaction. It seemed the more innocent someone was the more horribly they cringed. Funnily enough Jeremy hadn’t flinched even once yet.

Riley didn’t stay wounded for long and when he came back, he did with a fury. If there was ever a face to properly sum up the feeling of ‘motherfucker you did _not_ just say that’ Riley was wearing it.

“Why you--!” The one armed man looked very much like he was ready to attempt killing his former boss with just one hand around his throat. It was a testament to Riley’s skill that Jeremy believed he could do it easily enough. He had kept the man on a close leash because of his formidable ability to maim after all. 

His stay in hospital had done his body little good and Jeremy could see that the muscle he had always associated with the muscle head was definitely lacking. He was still a strong build of a man and Jeremy imagined efforts had been made to get him back to his usual self – but his time being inactive still showed. Yet, Riley still looked perfectly capable of killing someone with just one arm – honestly Jeremy thought he’d been the best guard dog he’d ever gotten.

Pity he wasn’t holding that particular leash anymore.

“ _Riley_.” Sebastian again spoke, a little more sternly as he pressed one hand to his brother’s chest, holding him back from trying to rip Jeremy apart.

There was a small look exchanged between the two Sinclair boys, a sort of silent battle or understanding that resulted in Riley begrudgingly taking a step back down from his offensive position. Then, ever the peacekeeper, Sebastian stepped forward and whipped out his best soothing smile.

Jeremy’s skin crawled.

“Sorry, I think maybe that was a bit too much of a shock. Maybe…we could talk this over inside?” He suggested and Jeremy only then realized that Sebastian was not going to tell them. He wasn’t going to admit to his little run as prison keeper and judging by the look he eventually passed at Jeremy – he was expected to say nothing. 

Waylon let out a massive sigh of relief and only looked even more thankful when his wife appeared at the top of the stairs. Unlike everyone else standing there still trying to find a way to pass through the terrible tense situation, Lisa breezed over it all and welcomed their guests inside with an offer of a drink and an expression of gratitude for delivering dinner. It was endlessly amusing when Riley took something a bit heavier and Sebastian asked for water. 

Kid still couldn’t handle even an easy drink it seemed.

Lisa didn’t seem at all bothered by the looks that passed between the group. Not Waylon’s fidgeting or Riley’s ever constant scowling – the woman easily worked over it and before long they were all sitting around the living room coffee table with their respective drinks in hand and the take out divided between them. 

“Explain.” Was the first word Riley spoke after having cooled off just a bit. The demand was short but at least it was not presented as a growl.

Then like the trusting idiot he was, Waylon told them everything. It was an unspoken rule during the story that Jeremy wasn’t to say a thing, let Waylon rather dramatically recount how Blaire had just showed up in the middle of the night. Lisa felt happy enough to add that they’d brief exchanged blows, much to both Jeremy and Waylon’s displeasure. 

They explained their problem with Murkoff and neither Sinclair boy looked comfortable thinking about the possibility of the corporate monsters looming over them still. Then finally Waylon told the pair the deal he’d struck with Blaire and the rest was pretty easily summed up. They’d been doing nothing but playing happy families since Jeremy’s arrival, waiting for any sort of contact from Waylon’s sources.

With it all said and done, a silence fell over the room. Lisa went about changing drinks over with an air of casualness that no one else could see to find and Waylon’s fidgeting began anew.

After what seemed like an eternity, Riley let out a heavy sigh and ran his one remaining hand over his face. That feeling of exhaustion and confusion was one that they’d all shared at some point and Riley had just woken up into this chaos. Poor bastard was probably still grappling for a sense of normality.

Not that any of this amounted to anything of importance to Jeremy. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes staring at the small coffee table that was now currently the only physical barrier between him and Sebastian. The man had been deceptively quiet through all of this, and that was driving Jeremy almost insane. He knew Sinclair to be a good actor, saw how he could flip the switch between his usual self and the one he gave to everyone that wasn’t Blaire. But it was too perfect.

He showed no recognition for Blaire outside of their interactions in the asylum and he certainly didn’t show any malicious intent. But Jeremy knew. He _knew_ that Sinclair was just biding his time. He wasn’t crazy, he hadn’t imagined everything that went down in that little shabby shack, even if Sinclair’s performance was flawless, Jeremy could all but feel the other man’s patience. 

He was waiting and for what Jeremy couldn’t say. 

“So that’s it?” Riley asked after a few more minutes of silence. “We’re just…going to get along?” His skepticism was well warranted.

“Its him or Murkoff.” Sebastian rationalized to his brother.

With the look Riley was giving Jeremy it seemed very much like he would have been content to just take Jeremy as payment for the horrors he’d witnessed. But Waylon and Sebastian were a little more clever in that respect and they’d both agreed Murkoff was a greater evil that Jeremy Blaire.

Not that Jeremy could blame him honestly. It would have been far more gratifying to kill the person that embodied all the terrible things in their lives but it was ultimately not a long-term solution. Still the desire never truly faded. 

It didn’t help matters that Jeremy could still vividly remember the day he’d informed Riley that Mr. Park seemed to be overstepping his boundaries and that he’d be required to assist in having him transferred to a patient program. Of course Riley hadn’t refused even knowing that it was no less than killing the other worker he’d managed to befriend – it was Waylon or his brother. Simple as that and as always Riley did not fail to impress with just how ready he was to throw others under the bus.

Had he not been positive that Riley would leap across the coffee table and strangle him, Jeremy would have commented on how that trait had always been admirable in him.

Instead he asked. “What happened to you?” Like he didn’t know perfectly well what had happened to Riley’s arm. 

By his side, Waylon looked over at Jeremy in what he supposed was surprise. Maybe Park thought that Jeremy was showing some form of concern for his ‘favorite’ guard, rather than what it really was. A mixture of mockery and an attempt to ease the flow of conversation. The sooner this dinner was over the sooner Jeremy could get himself the hell out of here.

He’d made a deal with Park but now that he’d seen Sinclair in this house, it was time to move on. Maybe he’d give Waylon something before he left, some sort of consolation for him breaking his word. But he couldn’t stay here. 

Riley shifted uncomfortably, gaze slipping down to the empty space where his arm had once been. Jeremy remembered having thought he’d lose his own arm and although it was no longer pretty to look at – he could almost understand that grim acceptance.

“It was an accident.” He said eventually and Jeremy startled because _what_?

Without meaning to his gaze slipped over to Sebastian almost accusingly and the bastard had the gall to simply smile at him in an innocent, questioning sort of way. Like he had no idea why Blaire would be looking at him so furiously.

“An _accident_?” Jeremy seethed, not intending for his voice to come out so acidly.

Again Riley was looking uncomfortable, pinching at the fabric of the lounge under him. It took a while and Sebastian even had to give his brother a small encouraging gesture, which only served to inflame Jeremy’s insides. “Wrong place, wrong time I suppose.” Riley answered with a small shrug. “The Walrider took it.” 

Some of his anger was smothered at that, so Sebastian had given him a bold faced lie when he told him about his brothers ‘accident’.

“I was still in my guard uniform.” Riley continued quietly, his deep voice sounding surprisingly nice when he spoke gently. “I had all sorts of lunatics going at me from the moment that place went to hell.” Jeremy could imagine, the guards and scientists did tend to get _special_ treatment from the variants. 

From Riley’s account he’d lost the finger when one of the patients had gotten him on the ground, bitten it right off and Jeremy saw Waylon wince in sympathy from his side. Jeremy wanted to remind Park about the lovely bruise Riley had given him just before he was locked up, but pushing that might not be the smartest thing he could currently do.

The claw marks on his face and the missing arm however seemed to be the Walrider’s handiwork through and through. But he still referred to it as an accident for what reason Jeremy couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He most certainly didn’t think of his own run in with Walrider as an accident, of course he was not as forgiving as a Sinclair boy seemed to be.

“What about you?” Riley eventually asked, still seeming uncomfortable talking to Jeremy. Perhaps it was the fact that this was the first time they’d spoken on equal grounds. “You look surprisingly alive. Considering the last time I saw you there were parts of you everywhere.”

Jeremy had to suppress both a scowl and dry laugh. He was about to answer with some colourful language when he saw Sinclair’s eyes from the corner of his eye. He could have sworn he saw them narrow a fraction.

“If I knew I probably still wouldn’t share.” He answered flatly, deciding claiming ignorance would be the easiest method. Although his spite did keep him talking for a bit longer. “But evidently I’m _not_ dead, despite some efforts.”

What followed was one of the more bizarre situations Blaire had found himself in. Which given the line up was something of a surprise. He learnt a lot in their little gathering. First of all he was hit with the relatisation that he was completely and utterly idiotic beyond compare. He had never thought to question Waylon’s day schedule and while he had at one point taken note of Sinclair’s he’d never thought that maybe that one day a week they both vanished for those few precious hours in the middle of the day – that they’d be meeting up one town over.

Honestly he could have ripped his hair out of his head from pure frustration. Turns out Sebastian and Waylon had been meeting up weekly for some time now and had become something like therapy friends. As such they already knew each other’s stories of the asylum inside and out. Which was why they spent so much time asking Riley about his experiences.

Had Jeremy know this little tidbit of information he wouldn’t have followed Waylon to his home, nor would have he been concerned for the idiots safety when he’d first tried to escape.

While he was still all but grinding his molars to dust in frustration, Jeremy also learned that Upshur hadn’t completely dropped off the face of the planet for these people either. Waylon made mention of occasionally seeing Mr. Upshur, although they rarely seemed to talk. If there were a single word for that it would have been creepy. Sebastian was always quick to reassure Waylon that Miles was simply working through some things.

Like being a robot demon from hell was the same as a midlife crisis.

Over all the conversation served to remind Blaire that he was very much separated from these people, just as he had purposefully separated himself from them in the asylum. Waylon who was too kind for his own damn good, Sebastian with his ready smiles and Riley’s tenacity – all of it could easily mesh together and the group found the sort of forgiveness and ease that Jeremy wouldn’t even dream of.

They’d all somehow managed to hurt one another in some form or another but there they all sat. Drinking around a coffee table in suburbia and Jeremy didn’t know how to feel about it.

How many hours had he spent listening to Rick tell him about the nature of human compassion? He’d been given whole lectures on how to twist it and manipulate it to his needs. It was flimsy, fickle and easily used for a greater purpose. He’d used it to twist all three of these men in one way or another, contort them in all sorts of painful directions.

A simple threat to another’s safety here, a play on someone’s compassion there – the sorts of manipulation that did not work for men such as himself. That may have very well been the difference that properly separated them, that lack of empathy. That core difference in character that kept them very much apart. 

Again he felt a swell of jealous rage towards Waylon Park. Even after Jeremy had stolen two friends from him, thoroughly crushed any chance of a friendship and tossed him into living hell – he still came out like this. Surrounded by people willing to chat with him, people that genuinely smiled in answer to Waylon’s own happy expression. In turn Park had forgiven their transgressions, Riley’s betrayal, Sebastian’s insane lapse in judgment and he’d even managed to build some sort of attachment with the Walrider and its host.

The man, despite having lost his foot and a considerable amount of sleep – could still be surrounded by this. In comparison, what did Blaire have? A target on his head and the scorn of pretty much everyone in this room. 

Lisa acted as something like the evenings saving grace. While the men were busy trying to rope in their own emotional baggage, she was able to easily move them and keep things going smoothly. Jeremy had the distinct impression that Lisa would have snickered at the men and their emotions if the situation were a touch lighter. Woman had a heart of ice – what she was doing with softie Waylon was a mystery far beyond Blaire’s understanding.

If Waylon tried to get up to help her, he was quickly reprimanded. He had organized dinner so she could take care of things like drinks and serving – most likely she knew Waylon was something of a peacekeeper there. If he were gone that would leave just Blaire and the Sinclair boys – not the best scenario.

So the night progressed, food was brought and gradually Jeremy’s nerves softened, leaving only his irritation behind. Riley for his part stopped being so angry and slipped back into what Jeremy could only call fear. That fit. Despite all his aggression and strength, there had been a point in time where Jeremy all but owned him. The fear was deeply instilled in Riley but Jeremy couldn’t reach into his mind that far to twist it to his advantage.

Because Sebastian was still there. 

Sitting calmly in his seat, smiling and laughing freely as he too kept the conversation alive. He looked very much like the idiot therapist that Jeremy had known so well in the asylum. Gentle and sweet, his ever-ready smile seemed to light up his face and it almost made the horrible scaring unnoticeable. 

What was worse than all of this was just how unconcerned he seemed. Jeremy had nightmares frequently, a great many of them took place in the asylum and almost half of those were claimed by Sinclair. He’d expected something more than this if they ever met again. Screaming, blood – maybe another hammer or pair of shiny scissors. Instead he got a pleasant smile and was all but ignored by the man that kept him captive for such a long period of time.

His mistake was not being angry with this but the fact that before long, Sinclair’s nonchalant mood began to rub off on him. It was a mistake to fall into a sense of security even in Park’s home.

The two brothers stayed long into the night and by the time Jeremy was sure Riley had ingested all the alcohol in the house, the man was beginning to show just how intoxicated he was. He and Waylon still had a lot to say to one another, apparently they’d already done their piece and had an apology when Riley was still clawing his way out of a hospital bed – but it wasn’t enough. 

According to Riley it would never be enough. He got a little weepy and his completely sober brother did try to calm the drunken sibling a bit. But he was babbling nonsense about how sorry he was. How he’d wronged so many people. All true but Jeremy felt as though Riley wouldn’t be out of line to blame him just a touch more for those atrocities. It was only when Riley began to mumble incoherently about the Walrider that Jeremy decided he’d had quite enough.

Lisa was the only one sharp enough to notice his retreat and did ask him about it, to which Jeremy easily answered he needed to find where they’d stashed the last of their wine if he was to survive this. She seemed to understand that well enough and let him go so she could turn her attention back to the small scene Riley was making.

Blaire did not immediately go for the wine however; he instead went upstairs and found the nearest balcony. It had gotten very late and Jeremy was met with an icy breeze the moment he stepped outside. It was a welcome relief to the stuffy house. So he accepted the goose bumps rising up on his skin and stared out over the flickering lights of the other houses.

Leaning on the balcony railing, Jeremy again tried to work some sort of sense out of his current life. He wasn’t having much luck adding reason to his new living situation.

Honestly he just did not want to hear Riley babble about the Walrider. It was too fresh a wound of his own. If Riley began to talk about how it felt to have his skin parted like it was nothing more than paper against the monsters strength, or the horrible ripping sound it made as he tore apart – Jeremy might actually share something with Riley that he didn’t want to.

Having even the smallest thing in common made his skin crawl for reasons he could not perfectly pin down. When he thought about it, Jeremy found himself being filled with a faintly grim sensation, knowing the monster attacked indiscriminately. Riley was many things but Jeremy never believed him to be evil or malicious – it felt wrong that the Walrider would attack even him.

Jeremy scoffed. He was trying to find morality in a monster.

He’d given up trying to sort his jumbled thoughts and decided to actually go and sniff out that wine when the door to the balcony slid open behind him.

“You’ve made me a liar, Mr. Blaire.”

Jeremy barely managed to turn to face Sinclair before the man was upon him. It was stupid of him to think that Sinclair wouldn’t follow him. He’d followed him across towns, through madmen’s mazes – he sure as hell could follow him through Park’s house.

Familiar burn covered fingers wrapped around Jeremy’s throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing impossible while the another– no less familiar but still perfect – grabbed hold of the Jeremy’s hand, keeping it pinned down tight to the balcony railing. All it took was a lapse of judgment and second of being off guard, and suddenly Sinclair had him caged in.

His first instinct was to claw at Sinclair but in his panic Jeremy’s fingers latched onto the man’s squeezing wrist, trying to pry it away so that he could just _breathe_. The second reaction he had was to scream but as those fingers tightened around his windpipe, Jeremy knew that was off the table. So there he stood, trying to pull Sinclair’s hand away from his neck while the other man bent him at an odd angle. 

Over the balcony edge.

“I could drop you.” Sinclair concluded innocently. “You probably won’t die from this height but maybe you’d break again. How long would I have to spend patching you back into something human shaped this time?”

The strangled sound that came out of Jeremy didn’t sound nearly enough like ‘fuck you’ to him but Sinclair seemed to get the idea and he only chuckled. The sound didn’t match his light laugh that he freely offered to Waylon and his brother, it was more similar to something meant to hurt rather than show happiness. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Blaire. Between searching for you and looking after my brother who just so happened to need your money.” His hand tightened a fraction. “You’ve kept me _very_ busy.”

It was entirely possible that this time Sinclair would really kill him. A familiar panic filled Jeremy’s swimming head and in desperation he tried to kick out and shatter Sinclair’s leg if he could manage it. The small hiss of irritation laced with pain and the sturdy impact Jeremy felt to the sole of his foot was satisfactory for a moment. Then Sinclair pressed in closer, jamming his pointy knees against Jeremy’s legs and pushing him further over the edge to the point he was on his tippy toes just trying to keep some sort of balance. 

“You sleazy, immoral, bastard.” Sinclair was hissing a string of insults in Jeremy’s direction. The words coming out disjointed and jerky as he seemed to lack the forethought to plan them. His fury was simply overflowing into speech.

"What do you think you were doing? Coming here of all places. Even after I _swore_ to keep you away from Waylon.” That was his problem, not Jeremy’s. If he had the air to do so, Jeremy would have said as much. “After I spent so many hours slaving over your broken, waste of a body, just to keep you breathing. Even after the first time you slipped away, you still--”

Jeremy could practically hear Sinclair’s teeth grinding as he tried to gather up some sort of logical sense beyond his rage. Another shove and Jeremy’s spine began to shriek in protest while Sinclair dug his nails into Jeremy’s wrist, not likely drawing blood.

“I should drop you.” Sinclair ground out lowly. “I should make sure your neck snaps, do it myself before I drop you – make it look like an accident. Make sure you stop breathing this time. I _should_.”

Sinclair was shaking. Jeremy couldn’t quiet see straight, slight blurring as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. An effect of being choked he knew, but no less humiliating. Still he tried, tried to angle his head down so he could see the expression Sinclair was making at that moment. Rage he expected, madness was not a far off second – he most certainly was not expecting the absolutely wretched look on Sinclair’s face.

He looked very nearly terrified.

“What were you thinking?” Sinclair whispered, voice turning thick with something Jeremy couldn’t identify. 

Then after what felt like an eternity without air, dangling over what would most certainly be a very painful drop, Sinclair relented. With a small shuddering breath that sounded close to a sob, Sinclair’s hands pulled Jeremy back over to edge.

Jeremy was still trembling when his feet made purchase on the solid floor, his throat aching and the small nail shaped cuts in his wrist beginning to sting. But he was alive and Sinclair’s fingers were unlatching from his throat. The bright side.

While Jeremy was struggling for his bearings, Sinclair stood silently, posture ridged as his eyebrows knitted tightly together in careful consideration. Gradually his gaze slipped from Blaire, back towards the house where Waylon and his family lived, where his big brother was most likely working himself towards the world’s greatest hangover.

It felt only right that he and Blaire stood outside, away from them.  
On this side of the line.

“Not going to do it then, Sinclair?” Jeremy bit out the very second he could draw breath. Sebastian did try not to be amused by the man’s tenacity. “Fucking coward.”

“Really?” Sebastian snarled back, grinding his teeth as he scowled at the man he’d been looking for during the past month. “You want to test me? _Me_? Exactly how are your legs feeling?” 

He did not miss the small flinch and despite the immeasurable feeling or rage curling in his stomach, Sebastian softened his tone. “I’m not…I won’t hurt you. If I was going to, you’d be over that railing already.”

“Real comforting, Sinclair.” The venom in Jeremy’s voice had made a full recovery it seemed. His time with the Parks – baffling as it was to Sebastian to even think about – seemed to have done him some good. Jeremy looked healthier when Sebastian really took the time to look at him.

His clothes – while most certainly not to his tastes – were all clean and neatly fitting. The wounds that had turned to scars over the months in his care were beginning to fade in places and Jeremy genuinely looked healthy again. Even his skin had gotten back a faint glow of life that Sebastian didn’t think he’d ever seen on Blaire. Not even before the riots.

He looked disarmingly human.

“A whole month, Jeremy.” Sebastian chose to say instead of commenting on how good Jeremy looked. “A whole damn month, what the fuck do you think you were doing? Pulling something like this – if Miles found you here before I had--” 

“He would have killed me more quickly!” Jeremy snapped back, having finally found enough breath and resolve to stand his ground against Sebastian properly. Much to Sebastian’s surprise the man even took a step towards him and for a breath stealing second Jeremy looked like his former self – someone that carried himself above Sebastian. Only difference was that now Sebastian could really see it without the naïve vision he’d worn before.

He didn’t look afraid anymore.

“Better than whatever the fuck this is. Whatever the hell it is you’re doing, killing me slowly like it’s for sport.”

“Don’t talk shit.” He wasn’t exactly sure how this had happened. The pair of them standing on Waylon’s balcony swearing at one another. “Walrider would rip you apart, Jeremy.”

“At least he’d _just_ kill me!” Suddenly Jeremy was in Sebastian’s personal space, causing the blonde to take an involuntary step back. He knew that he could reach out, lay hands on Jeremy – remind him exactly what he could be. Remind him exactly what he could do with a knife or hammer.

But no, Sebastian didn’t want to be that monster. He didn’t want to be the thing that the asylum had made him. Not to anyone, not even to Jeremy Blaire.

“And what exactly am I doing, Jeremy?” He asked quietly, the words slipping out in a low hiss. For a second he saw Jeremy’s advance falter, having expected shouting and swearing. Not this quiet approach.

Sebastian’s hands snaked out to grab fist fulls of Jeremy’s shirt. A shirt that must have been bought for him by Lisa at some point – it was not one that Sebastian had bought the man. Most of those still hung dutifully in the little abandoned shack in the woods. He’d not discarded them even after a month of finding no sign of the man.

“Don’t you get it?” Sebastian hissed with his fists tightening over the fabric of Jeremy’s shirt so violently it might shred if he tugged any harder. “I thought you were _dead_ , Jeremy!” 

Sebastian didn’t note how uncharacteristically silent Jeremy was as the words came pouring out of him. The fears he’d kept locked up in his head from the moment Jeremy vanished. He’d searched for him for hours, running all over the fair just hoping to catch a glimpse of the man because surely he hadn’t run away. 

He had – stupid as it was – trusted Blaire not to run. Out of fear most likely, but even so. Then suddenly the man was gone without a trace and Sinclair couldn’t find him. He couldn’t ask anyone for help, couldn't even confide in Waylon. How ironic and cruel now he realized that Waylon had been hiding the same secret from him for a month. 

Albeit not well with the help of hindsight. During their coffee sessions Waylon had fidgeted a lot more than usual and asked plenty of strange questions. Sinclair could have slapped himself – it was so obvious. But he’d been so caught up in his internal panic and working to get Riley back to some sense of normalcy that he’d completely missed the signs.

Waylon was the worst liar that Sebastian had ever met – this was simply embarrassing. 

“It could have been Murkoff or maybe Miles accidentally caught sight of you and Walrider went ballistic – I didn’t know. I thought that you were properly dead this time! Shredded to bits by Walrider or taken away by Murkoff to get taken care of quietly.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sebastian bit back a further explosion of fears he’d kept bottled up. It was infuriating, to have to worry about where Jeremy was. Irrational thoughts had flown into his head at the time, wondering if Murkoff would just kill their former worker or if they’d have something more colourful in mind for him. 

The thought of Jeremy strapped down and staring at a flickering screen while his lungs burst from his shrieking alone – it should have fed a sadistic facet of Sebastian’s mind. Instead it made him sick to his stomach. No one, not even Jeremy Blaire, should be exposed to that sort of hell. No matter how much Sebastian suffered because of Jeremy, no matter how much he hated him – it would never be enough to warrant that torture.

And that thought alone had kept him awake at night, even when Riley had fallen asleep by his side.

God, how he hated Jeremy. 

God, how Sebastian wished he could have at least been the one to do it. How he loathed every inch of the man in front of him for making him so terrified. For keeping him up at night until dark bags formed under his eyes and he developed noticeable ticks. How he absolutely despised the mere thought of Jeremy – fucking prick – Blaire.

It would have pleased Jeremy to know how truly, deeply, and madly Sinclair hated him in that moment. It always seemed to bring the man some sort of satisfaction in the past. To know he could twist Sebastian into hating something with every nerve in his body when hatred was originally so displaced from his nature.

If Blaire had to be dead, his hands should have been the ones curled tight around his throat until the air stopped trying to be drawn in. It should have been him that saw Jeremy struggling to live in those final few seconds before his eyes went dark. 

If Jeremy Blaire had to die, Sebastian had to be the one to do it. So he’d know that Jeremy was dead, so he’d know that it wasn’t some long, lonely drawn out process. Just so Sebastian could sleep at night not wondering what became of the man. 

God, how he hated Jeremy for scaring him.

“I thought…”

“You...” Sebastian was almost surprised to hear Jeremy’s voice. So soft and subdued. Had he not known the man quite so well he might have mistaken that quiet tone for a tender one. But he knew better and so he was not surprised by what followed. “…stupid, fucking _idiot_.”

Ah, there it is. That was almost comforting – it was exactly what Sebastian expected of Jeremy.

Forcing himself to look back up, Sebastian barely got to register Jeremy’s expression before the man had grabbed a fist full of his hair and gave it a painful jerk. Sinclair let out a small yelp of alarm – Jeremy had gotten stronger while being with the Park family it seemed. They must have been feeding him better.

“Where the hell do you get off spilling shit like that, huh?” Jeremy demanded, giving Sinclair’s hair another sharp tug. “After the hell you put me through time and time again – you have the balls to try and guilt trip _me_? I knew you were an insubordinate, lousy, useless, waste of a worker – but this is a new level of pathetic!” 

Sebastian was still looking for his own words when Jeremy snatched his chin in the hand not currently tearing Sebastian’s hair up from the roots, crushing his jaw unforgivingly as he demanded the man’s upmost attention. 

“Look at me you good for nothing freak. I am _alive_. Right goddamn in front of you – use your eyes and your head before you start bawling out some nonsense like a lost child. I am here, alive and not about to listen to you mourn me when I never even fucking died.”

And Sebastian could only stare. While Jeremy’s verbal whip lashed at him again, leaving a very familiar sting in its wake, Sebastian had nothing. He had no threats or words he could equip to fight back against the man. There was no demand or insult on his mind that he could employ to disarm Jeremy – instead there was a simple blank space in his head where those weapons usually nestled, ever ready. 

If Jeremy found his silence through the rant, or his staring, unnerving he didn’t show it. Maybe it didn’t make him uncomfortable – he had wanted Sebastian’s full attention after all. Now he had it, as the man stayed motionless in his hold – not a single fight left in him. 

He wasn’t afraid. Jeremy wasn’t even the least bit scared of him. 

That alone was enough to still Sebastian’s entire mind. How stupid of the man. Had he no survival skills? No basic protective instinct? Fear should have still stayed prominent in his mind – but instead here he was berating his very own personal predator as if Sebastian was nothing more than the mild mannered worker he’d tried so hard to tread on when they first met. 

He didn’t say a word as he reached up to grasp Jeremy’s wrist, jerking it away from him. Jeremy’s grip was harsh and the motion took some of Sebastian’s hair with it, still clenched between Jeremy’s closed fist. He ignored the small sting of pain and surged forward to break the man’s grip on his chin as well.

Jeremy expected some sort of resistance, although it came later than expected. He also assumed that Sinclair would release him and maybe they’d exchange blows or bicker some more. Neither of these things happened quite how Jeremy imagined.

Sebastian did not release Jeremy; instead the younger man wrapped his arms around Jeremy’s shoulders. The mere action causing Jeremy’s already foggy mind to reel in revulsion and confusion.

A normal man would call the thing Sinclair was doing with his arms a hug. It most certainly was not, Jeremy did not give or receive hugs, so it simply couldn’t be. Whatever it was – it wasn’t that. 

Then the idiot spoke, face buried against Jeremy’s tensed shoulder. “God, I hate you. _So_ much…” The sound was muffled and for a second Jeremy didn’t recognize what he’d said. When the words did finally sink in, he laughed. 

He hadn’t meant to, but it just slipped out. Sinclair was truly, unabashedly insane and Jeremy wondered idly if he’d always been a little bit crazy or if it really was all down to him and the asylum. If they were tossing credit around it probably belonged to Murkoff, but Jeremy didn’t feel like giving anything to them anymore.

They’d had his life and loyalty – as much loyalty as a man like Jeremy could muster. Now they wanted his silence and if all else fails, life. But he wasn’t willing to give them so much as a dime anymore. Not long ago they had owned him; someone had always owned him in that sense. A higher-up, a corporation – now it was just him. Which meant he could think and do whatever he damn well pleased. 

And Jeremy liked to think it was him that made Sinclair crazy.

That was his. 

 

…  
…  
…

 

“You got _lost_?”

There was that tone of amusement in Sebastian’s voice again. The one that made Jeremy really consider how good his chancers were if he tried to haul the blonde over the balcony.

Considering how likely it was that Sinclair would turn the tables and toss Jeremy instead – he didn’t give it a shot. But his imagination did give a very nice scene that involved him looking down at Sinclair; face down on the front lawn with a broken nose.

“Don’t say it like it’s impossible.” Jeremy bit back furiously. He didn’t have to defend himself to this little shit.

The pair of them, after having established some basic ground rules – one of which was funnily enough ‘no throwing off the balcony’ – had settled down, sitting opposite one another on the ground.

Jeremy didn’t fancy sitting on the ground like a child but with no chairs available and the temptation of pushing one another if someone sat on the railing, it was the only viable option. Going back inside wasn’t exactly appealing to either party. Having come to a sort of stalemate where neither of them was trying to choke the other to death – both he and Sinclair had sat down and had a rather lengthy staring match. 

Of course when Sinclair blinked and Jeremy was about to claim victory – the bastard had the gall to speak as if they hadn’t just engaged in a silent war that _he_ lost. 

He stared with simple questions, what he’d been doing, how the hell he’d convinced the Parks to let him live in their home. Each answer seemed to baffle Sinclair more than the last. He seemed especially surprised when Blaire depicted his weekends with the two Park kids and even a little weary when Jeremy explained that he was teaching the boys what Waylon wouldn’t.

Apparently Sinclair thought that Blaire’s lessons were not ones kids should learn. Maybe not but it had served Jackie perfectly well at school – Jeremy wouldn’t apologize for that.

When he asked why Jeremy had run away this time after what happened the first time, Jeremy had answered honestly. Blaming it all on Sinclair for wandering off without him. Naturally the man found a way to infuriate Jeremy with something even this simple.

“Like a child.” Sebastian hummed with a positively predatory grin on his face. Jeremy _knew_ that was one of the expressions Sinclair had taken from him. Maybe a touch of Rick in there as well. “Should I hold your hand next time, so you don’t get lost again?”

“Shut your damn trap.” Was his rather brilliant retort. It didn’t help that at the time he’d actually met a lost child in a similar situation. He _wasn’t_ a child and Jackie was an alarmingly bright kid as well. They had just been separated for a bit and it was definitely the fault of the other person involved. 

Sebastian laughed, he laughed so hard that Jeremy was very seriously considering breaking their no choking rule just to shut him up. 

“I thought you’d run off.” The blonde choked out eventually, apparently finding this hilarious.

“Who would be that stupid?” Jeremy snarled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the balcony railing. “I want to live thank you very much.” He had plenty of opportunities to stop living in the past – if he hadn’t wanted to live so badly he would be long gone. 

“What about you?” Sebastian’s laughter died a little bit at Jeremy’s sudden demand. “When you showed up I half expected you to break something again.”

“Like your fingers?” He didn’t need the suggestion. Sebastian’s smile faded a bit when Jeremy simply scowled at him and then eventually the man sighed heavily. “Despite popular belief, I don’t actually want to hurt you, Jeremy.”

He had a stockpile of comments and memories in his head that said otherwise.

“At least not anymore. I’m getting better.” Sinclair amended after a moment of thought, obviously going through his own memory on the matter. “It gets a little better every day. With Riley back it gets even easier to focus.”

“And what about him?” Jeremy was almost surprised he’d asked about Riley at all. But there was some curiosity there, after all Riley had been a small pet project of his back in the day. Maybe that was too extreme; he’d been more like a small source of entertainment. 

Sebastian clearly thought the question was odd but he breezed over it easily – anything to talk about his big brother it seemed. 

“He’s…recovering. Learning how to live with the memories is one thing but he’s also got to learn how to function with just one arm.” Sebastian tossed Jeremy a look that was surprisingly void of blame, although there was something mocking there. “At least you kept yours.” 

“Ah yes, I can imagine it. Him tripping over everything and getting smacked in the face every time he tries to catch something with that nonexistent arm of his.” Perhaps mocking Sebastian back was unwise, but in all honesty the idea was really amusing to Blaire.

Riley had always been so competent. Maybe not the brightest guy around, but reliable. If there was a problem he fixed it, ranging from a wobbly desk to a hole in the ceiling. It had gotten to the point where Jeremy had him on hand for any little inconvenience. Be it the kind that needed a fist or a wrench – Riley had been a handy man if Jeremy ever saw one.

Without his arm it was likely he wouldn’t be quite so useful anymore. Jeremy knew without a shred of a doubt that would eat at Riley inside. He’d been such a physical man, being unable to do the things that needed to be done – it would drive him mad faster than the asylum would have.

From what Sebastian said, Riley had remained perfectly sane throughout the asylum. Kept his wits – what few he had – about him and kept low. Didn’t save his finger or arm in the end – but it had kept him alive. Perhaps if he had not been so devoted to his little brother he would have survived in one piece – leaving Sebastian to rot in the asylum.

Good thing he hadn’t or Jeremy would probably rotting there right along side the rest of them. It was amusing that even without meaning to, Riley had been able to fix another of Jeremy’s problems. 

“I could take you up on the hand breaking idea, if you like?” Sebastian offered, tone holding an icy note to it and Jeremy snorted in amusement. The two boys were stupidly protective of one another. 

But Jeremy wasn’t afraid. Sinclair wouldn’t do it.

“What comes next?” Jeremy asked out of the blue. The question startling the man sitting across from him. “I’m not going back to that shack of yours and unless you want Waylon and Riley to hear all the gory details – I don’t think you’ll try anything.”

“You got more ballsy while I was away, huh?” That was dry even for Sebastian. 

For a few seconds the man turned silent and thoughtful. After all this hadn’t been his original plan, it didn’t seem like anything went according to plan anymore. He’d have to adapt and quick.

“That deal you and Waylon struck up.” Sebastian eventually murmured. “He wants you to take down Murkoff, I want you when you can get back in touch with your own funds…so it seems like I’ll have to let you help Waylon. In the long run it’d be better if Murkoff were taken out of the equation. For all of us.” 

Then, much to Jeremy shock, Sebastian smiled.

Now given that Sebastian always had some sort of expression to throw out, the act of smiling itself was not unusual. However the smile that he turned on Blaire right then wasn’t any of the ones that he’d personally taught Sebastian. It was one of his own, the type he gave before the rioting.

Jeremy couldn’t remember the last time that smile had been directed at _him_. 

Sebastian gave it to everyone else free of charge. He offered up gentle, kind and friendly expressions to everyone that wasn’t Jeremy. So to see one on his face now was terribly jarring and Jeremy had no words for it. It infuriated Jeremy to no end that Sinclair could even make such genuine expressions; let along give them to anyone that so much as drew breath in the same vicinity. Just as long as it was never Blaire, anyone would do. 

God, he hated Sebastian.

The little shit tossed him through loop after loop like this was _his_ game. Like Jeremy was his to mess with rather than the other way around.

He hated every stupid little inch of this man. For making him feel out of control, for making him question very basic things he understood about himself and human nature. Jeremy loathed Sinclair for proving him wrong about the vile nature of other people when he was suppose to be the person who showed Jeremy that he was right.

Rick had assured him humans were despicable and easily twisted. Riley had been relentlessly dragged over that line to prove this to be accurate time and time again, until Jeremy was satisfied that it was true.

Then Park came along and gave him the opposite of that notion, opting to do what was right as opposed to what was advantageous by standing on the other side of the wall. For a time Sinclair had been on that same side with Park until Jeremy tore that sentimentality right out of his head. He should have fallen onto opposite side and for a while he did, running around that asylum with scissors in hand and Jeremy’s name on his lips.

And then just like that, Sinclair had gotten up and walked the line between the two instead. He’d abandoned the scissors and while Jeremy’s name still rest on his tongue – the malicious edge faded. Leaving him dancing between Trager’s philosophies on human nature and Waylon’s belief in them.

So Jeremy pushed him down onto one side, only to see the bastard swiftly get back up and sit on the edge of the wall again. Like he did it specifically to mock Jeremy’s sense of morality. 

When Jeremy wanted to see something cruel, Sebastian gave him something kind. If he wanted Sinclair to struggle, the man laid back and refused to fight. Then when he was positive that he’d made a monster of Sinclair – he gave him a smile. He despised the smile that Sinclair now gave freely.

Most of all he hated how obvious Sinclair had made the divide between them. 

Because if Jeremy belonged on one side of the line with Rick, and Riley was with Park on the other - then Sinclair would eventually have to stop dancing on that tight rope and get down. There was no question which side he’d fall into.

Rick was gone and the control that kept Riley firmly planted on Jeremy’s side of the wall had long since broken. That left just him. Standing there on an ideal that no longer proved to be true.

What was he suppose to do there? 

“You’ll be safe.” Jeremy hadn’t realized that Sebastian was talking again until those words jerked him back to the present. The man was still looking at him with that expectant expression, like he was waiting for some sort of expression of joy from Jeremy that just wasn’t there.

“What?” He asked dumbfounded and Sebastian’s disgustingly genuine smile only brightened.

“I said you’d be safe. With Murkoff gone – you will be able to go and live your own life. You’ll finally be rid of us – isn’t that nice?” Sebastian clarified; seeming to think this was what Jeremy wanted to hear. Instead the words echoed dully in Jeremy’s head and in his mind he could all but see the wall stretching up overhead. 

It was just him there now.

“It’ll be quieter when you’re all gone.” Was what he said. The words coming out flat and unfriendly – robotic and familiar. Sebastian chuckled good-naturedly at that – after all it’s the answer he’d been expecting wasn’t it? “Better off without you idiots around.”

This was fine. His side of the wall might be empty now, but Jeremy had never been averse to being alone. Loneliness was not something he felt. So he’d sit here in the silence and he wouldn’t once wonder what the other side of the wall was like. 

Sinclair was still sitting atop that wall, looking down at Jeremy in his isolated world. Soon he’d go down and join with Park and his brother again, stay there and smile that happy smile of his.

That was fine – Jeremy hated seeing it. It would be easier when they were all gone. Just a little more time and it’d be over. He’d be allowed to be alone again.

Just a little more time.

Then Sinclair was shifting, getting to his feet with a sigh like he was a thousand years old. The brat was too young to be making sounds like that and Jeremy hoped his expression said as much. Judging by the easy going smile on Sinclair’s face – it didn’t matter what Jeremy’s expression said.

“Come on then.” Sinclair murmured, offering his hand to Jeremy. “We’re going to have to be together for a little bit longer, lets try not to kill one another.”

He scowled at Sinclair’s hand like it was a poisonous snake waiting to sink its fangs into him. Then his gaze flicked up to Sinclair’s expression, still wearing a smile that in no way belonged to Jeremy. It wasn’t an expression that Jeremy had taught him, it wasn’t the Sebastian that Jeremy had crafted in the asylum. This person was very much a stranger to him – this Sinclair didn’t belong to him.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian purred and Jeremy’s face twisted into a snarl. “Something the matter, Jeremy?” 

“You expect me to just take your hand and we’ll play happy families together?” He asked, voice low and biting. “As if I’ll forget everything you did to me? Like you deserve that mercy.” 

For a moment Sebastian only seemed surprised by Jeremy’s refusal. Neither of them had forgotten the scissors or the hammer – any of it. Jeremy still remembered the running and the screaming, every vile promise Sebastian made to him. Very few of which he'd kept. 

Then the blonde smiled again, the burn marks that stretched over his face contorting with the cruel expression. Barely resembling a smile anymore. “Forget?” Sinclair repeated, his expression twisting into a sneer. Then his hand lashed out, snatching up Jeremy’s wrist and jerking the man onto his own two feet – closer to Sinclair. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Jeremy.”

“On the contrary.” Sebastian mused, holding Jeremy’s arm stretched far back over his shoulder, keeping his former boss off balance and close to him. “I couldn’t forget if I tried – you buried yourself too deep into my head. I haven’t forgotten what you did to me either, but we still have to work together.”

Ah, he was up on that wall again. Playing with the line between right and wrong – putting their sense of morality into question. Did he do it just to toy with Jeremy now? Did he know how crazy it made Jeremy to watch him dance on that line time and time again. If it was a game then Jeremy knew how to play. So he tried to give Sinclair another tug, pull him back down off that line and onto the wrong side of the wall.

“If I refuse?” Jeremy asked and watched at Sinclair’s smirk twitched up at the familiar words, he responded in kind. He knew this game, knew the words to say as his fingers twisted around Jeremy’s wrist, looking for a resistance that wasn’t there.

“That’s a stupid question, Jeremy. Obviously you’ll be killed. I might not be your first choice, but right now I’m your _only_ choice.”

“You’re crazy.” Jeremy murmured. The words slipping out in a way that almost sounded like approval. The fingers pressing unforgivingly against his flesh and the leer on Sebastian’s face – those were familiar. Those belonged on his side of the wall, away from Park and Riley’s eyes. They belonged to him.

“That’s alright, isn’t it?” Sebastian mused, reflecting the smugness that currently coiled in Jeremy’s gut. This felt like a victory – the monster he’d created wasn’t snuffed out after all, the corruption of something innocent – that still existed even if Sinclair knew how to smile like he used to. Under that face, there was this – the person created by Jeremy. “After all, I think you’re crazy too.”

“Just a little longer.” Sinclair told him quietly, the words hushed like it was a secret or a promise. “Then we’ll be done. After that – feel free to try and kill me again, Jeremy.”

This Sinclair was one he knew.  
And Jeremy grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn it. I try so hard to make these two not shippable but god damn it!


	14. Can't This Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay.  
> Have a longer chapter.

Riley was wailing again. 

Perhaps wailing was too strong a word, babbling was probably more accurate. The poor drunkard was not handling his first time drinking after being in a coma so well. Lisa watched with mild amusement as the man tipped from side to side, sometimes looking like he was slipping off to sleep before jerking upright again with some frantic nonsense falling out of his mouth.

Lisa watched as her husband tried to calm Riley, but Waylon had never been the firmest man and Riley’s incoherent murmuring seemed to be a bit out of his range of control. Not that it particularly bothered her, watching the pair struggle just to keep Riley from spilling his drink was fairly amusing in an innocent kind of way.

That was good. Lisa wanted to see Waylon back in more normal situations – they’d been in limited supply as of late. Even though Riley was a handful, at least it was something harmless to focus on. Which was partially why Lisa didn’t draw any attention to Sebastian when he left – saying something about the bathroom. 

What a pathetic lie.

Naturally Lisa didn’t call Sebastian on it and smiled, directing him upstairs and watching from the corner of her eye as he deliberately went in a different direction. That was fine – she wasn’t worried. Maybe she ought to have been, but Lisa often found the boys to be rather transparent and foolish with their own intentions. 

Had it been a month ago she wouldn’t have left Sebastian to his devices while in her home. She had trusted him about as far as she could throw him. It took months and plenty of pleading from Waylon for Lisa to allow Sebastian any leeway.

Blaire should have been grateful to Sebastian – he had done all the heavy lifting when it came to getting Lisa on board with this whole ‘people can change’ idea.

Then again Jeremy Blaire wasn’t much like the man she remembered either. He still spat and swore with the ferocity of a cornered cat, and there was a definite lack of compassion on his end – but it wasn’t the same. The smooth, callous and immoral man she’d had the displeasure of meeting when Waylon was working for Murkoff didn’t seem to exist anymore. She remembered him being suave and cruel – all pleasant smiles with a snake’s tongue.

Now?

Well now there wasn’t much that was smooth about him at all. He was rough around every edge and there was absolutely nothing pleasant about him in the slightest – Lisa found it all to be a great relief. A coarse personality and bitter tone was difficult to deal with to be sure – but it did not strike the same sense of dread in her as his former self had. 

Which was why when she watched Blaire from the window, where he thought he couldn’t be seen, playing with her boys – Lisa didn’t feel worried. At first she observed simply to make sure he didn’t do anything despicable – who would leave their children alone with a man like Jeremy Blaire? He was mad to think she would. 

But her boys were clever, far wilier than even her poor husband seemed to realize, and so she’d watched from afar at first just to make sure it was safe. Lisa wasn’t sure what she had been expecting – but whatever was on the table, it hadn’t been anything close to what she got.

Hours spent teaching Jackie how to swing a golf club, tearing up Waylon’s precious garden in the process. A few more spent, sitting down on the lawn idly judging whatever it was that Noel had to show him. The man wasted days away just keeping the pair entertained, getting lead around by the hand like a reluctant babysitter. The boys had so many things to show this new adult, so many trinkets and oddities to present to him. Her boys had always been out to impress and Jeremy was a brand new set of eyes to present to. 

Maybe he hadn’t noticed it himself – how firmly Jackie and Noel had him twisted around their fingers. Waylon certainly didn’t know that he was powerless to his son’s wishes – it seemed that Jeremy didn’t realize it either. Lisa thought that this was maybe the funniest thing about the two men – always thinking they were in charge when all it took was the threat of tears or a smile to get them doing what the kids wanted. 

Jeremy ought to be ashamed – his own game played better by a child. The thought still brought a private smile to Lisa. 

After two weeks of watching him like a hawk, Lisa was shocked to really see just how little of the man she had first met was left in Jeremy. It would be a ludicrous stretch to say he was a good man, even a better man, but he was most certainly not the _same_ man. That was why she was eventually confident enough to leave Waylon to keeping and eye on their houseguest. 

She’s ultimately settled into a familiar kind of acceptance with the man. The same she’d found for Sebastian and Riley after a long time of being furious. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten what they’d done. Her husband had come home scarred in more ways that simply physical – Sebastian and Riley had their fingerprints on that as well.

Waylon could be too gentle, too easily swayed with a smile and apology. So it fell to Lisa to properly judge the worth of their character. Sebastian came first, right off the bat with memories of what he’d done in the asylum – the horrors that wouldn’t wash of his hands. But Lisa had found him to be very similar to her husband in that respect. His story was not unlike Waylon’s and despite his questionable sanity – he’d come away from it in a similar condition to her Waylon.

Forgiving him came gradually but easily – trust was a touch more difficult.

His brother was the opposite. All his crimes were committed while he was coherent. No insanity plea to back him.

Forgiving him was a more difficult matter, but he’d had Sebastian there to plead his case and even Waylon had an encouraging word here and there. Admittedly it was difficult to remain livid after having seen Riley in the hospital for the first time. The bandaged stump at the time seemed to be the only thing Lisa could look at for a long time. Eyes drawn to it first, and then eventually to the diligent young brother that was currently alive and standing attentively by his brother’s bedside. That missing arm was lost protecting that brother to being with.

Those crimes of his might have been committed knowingly, but there was nothing malicious behind them. It was just one stupid big brother doing what he could to keep his only family safe. Lisa would have wanted nothing more than for her boys to feel that same dedication and care for one another – although she dearly hoped it never had to be tested quite so strenuously.

Trust for Riley came very easily, especially now she could observe him spilling his drink and sobbing over his own wrong doings – forgiveness had been hard but if Waylon could get there, Lisa would manage.

Blaire on the other hand – well he was a whole other matter.

He was knee deep in sins he’d willingly committed – no, sin’s he exuberantly committed. There was no apology there – to this day Lisa hadn’t heard Jeremy Blaire apologize for all that he’d done. There was no insanity plea to fall back on, no family member in peril to explain his actions. 

He’d just been a very bad man. Lisa had known that and so she didn’t offer him much of a chance at redemption. Even now Lisa couldn’t say she had forgiven him or trusted him – but it felt like she understood him. At least enough to know how far she was willing to let him out of her sight.

All three of these men had been carefully judged by her and Lisa was sure they knew it. Waylon was too gentle with them, so she had to be the stern one – to speak reason and keep her own boys safe. Waylon was fully taken with Sebastian’s sweet smile and easily gave Blaire sanctuary in their home when he found even the faintest common thread between them. Lisa was not so naïve. 

It could very well be that she understood their heads better than they did. She knew Waylon as well as she knew her own mind and these boys were hardly a difficult read. Lisa often wondered if they realised themselves what they were doing and why they did the things they did. Some refused to acknowledge their own actions and others just hadn’t quite figured it out yet – they would, in time. 

But at the end of the night each of the men had made some sort of hollow inside her mind to nestle comfortably away from her wrath. Trust, forgiveness and understanding – each had garnered at least one of these from her. Which was why Lisa was not worried having them in her home, even where her eyes could not track them.

Had she not thought this, had she even a _shred_ of doubt in her – Lisa would not have left Sebastian to his devices.  
Especially not when she’d seen him vanish upstairs after Blaire. But she had reasonable confidence that they would not find either of their houseguest on the front lawn after having taken a nasty tumble.

Still, Lisa had been wrong before. Though she challenged anyone to think of an exact time.

“Honey?” Lisa glanced up from the wine glass in her hand, unaware she’d been smiling that private, albeit somewhat vindictive, smile to herself. 

Waylon looked at her with a puzzled expression, one she’d always thought her husband wore better and with more frequency than anyone else. Of course she smiled back, brightening the expression till Lisa was sure it glowed. Waylon’s expression melted into one of comfort in an instant.

Yes, she knew this man’s head better than he did himself – even after Murkoff had tried their hardest to scramble it.

“Are you feeling alright, Riley? Not going to throw up are you?” Lisa asked, not bothering to hide the small note of amusement in her tone. He must have known that his body wouldn’t take well to alcohol at all, let alone that much. She did not feel cruel in finding amusement in his ridiculous behavior. But of course it was easier to look at it as a silly lapse in judgment as opposed to a coping mechanism.

“No, ‘m sorry.” Riley mumbled, words slurred and miserable as he sagged against Waylon’s shoulder. The techie smiling sympathetically, although not without his own small amount of amusement. 

Waylon had long since forgiven Riley for what he’d done. At first there’d been confusion, unable to understand why Riley’s hands were one set of many that hauled him down into the experiment rooms. Admittedly his concussion might have added to Waylon’s confusion.

Once that cleared there was the hurting, the sense of betrayal that ate at him while the straps on his wrists were fastened to pinch at his skin. That had lasted the longest and Waylon kept wanting to ask why. Why had Riley, who he was so sure was a friend, done this to him?

He hadn’t gotten his answer for a very long time. Waylon did not see Riley once in the asylum after that, not during any of the rioting or madness. He’d assumed him dead like most of the workers. During that time the confusion, hurt and faint prickle of anger had remained. 

It wasn’t until he stumbled across Sebastian for the first time that he was given an answer. When it finally clicked into place, Waylon didn’t feel much of anything. He’d been too busy running for his life, from a friendly face that no longer seemed quite so friendly. It wasn’t the burns that had scared Waylon; it was the horrible way Sebastian had smiled at him.

It felt slimy, like something diseased was crawling its way along Waylon’s body, looking for any gaps in his defenses it could sink into. The chairs filled with patients, some alive, some rapidly becoming not so alive. The metallic squeal of rusted scissors and that poisonous smile – all of it had been far too much.

So he ran. 

Like he had from everything else in the asylum, Waylon ran. Ignoring the familiar face, pushing past promises of help – he ran. It was only when he finally escaped the shell of what had been his friend that Waylon’s feeling returned, filling in the spaces that had been nothing but white noise in his panic. It was the same three feelings he’d already felt – twisted and distorted into new forms.

The anger shifted focus from Riley to Murkoff – a much more deserving party – and his confusion only began to gnaw at his insides. Questions of why still existed but now he was wondering why such horrible things had to happen in the first place. 

His hurt had only become worse, feeling like it would carve a hole in his chest if he allowed it. He hurt not only for himself but for the two Sinclair boys he’d befriended and quite possibly put into this position. It hurt knowing what had become of them, knowing why Riley had done what he had, did nothing to ease that pain.

All of this and more came with the asylum and Waylon didn’t think the memories would ever truly fade – but here he was. In his home with his wife and friends drinking and talking. His two children off for the night to visit a friend, but most definitely safe and happy.

Here he was – the nightmare had ended despite everything. Only fragments of it remained, reminders of what had been and could be if they weren’t careful. Sebastian’s forever-scarred body, Riley’s missing arm and his own leg – the nightmares they’d all share for years to come. Even the presence of Blaire and the threat of Murkoff rebuilding weighed heavily on his mind. 

What could be was still to be dealt with – but what had been can be moved past. Waylon felt he had in most ways. The nightmares might linger but he was not suffering anymore – he could be happy with just this. 

Riley was new to this, still fresh out of the asylum in his own mind – he’d come around eventually.

After all, none of them were doing this alone. The thought of going through the recovery with no one else there to comfort, support and share was a different kind of hell that Waylon kept far from his mind. This would be fine – just this was enough.

So Waylon smiled while Riley slumped against him and drunkenly sobbed. They had to start somewhere and Riley had plenty of coffee dates ahead of him. That was all right, Waylon would be there to help him through it.

If he had his way, it wouldn’t just be him and Sebastian there either.

“Hey, Riley?” Waylon murmured gently, like how he might talk to one of his boys when tears were a threat. Riley’s best response was a wordless sound of recognition and a small shrug of his shoulders. “How about tomorrow we try contacting Miles?” 

The reaction was immediate; Riley was upright, at attention and staring at Waylon with those glassy eyes of his. Riley remembered how tired they’d been when they first met – tired but ever alert. Some things didn't change it seemed, drunk and hazy as he might be, Riley’s eyes were sharp and while his mind caught up with the situation to respond – his eyes seemed to shine with an answer already.

“Miles?” He repeated the name slowly, as if he were hearing it for the first time. Waylon caught how Riley’s fingers began to twitch, like they wanted to tangle with the fingers he no longer had left. The four he’d kept were still long, firm – a memory of the strong hands he’d had.

Then they closed shut, an echo or a firm grasp he’d had. At least that was what Waylon thought as Riley’s fingers realized they couldn’t lace with their right hand counterparts anymore. Lisa might have known better, she might have observed the crippled man with a different sense of confidence. Missing and arm and digit and she could still see the strength behind that simple grasp. 

While Waylon worried, Lisa sat contented – the boys would be fine in time. Give it time and all these wounds could heal.

“Alright.” Quite, hesitant but decided. Waylon’s expression positively shone and Lisa smiled faintly when her husband’s hands cupped Riley’s shoulders a little tighter – a small comfort. 

It seemed obvious to her that Riley had agreed purely to please Waylon – it was likely he’d be doing little things like this to try and atone to Waylon for months to come. Maybe years into the future. All pointless gestures of course, Waylon didn’t hold a grudge against the poor drunkard.

Sometimes Lisa wondered where these kids would be if she hadn’t sized them up so quickly. As it was, they were all here – looking for normality in the remains of misfortune.

It was impossible not to smile at their awkward, stumbling steps. Speaking of awkward.

Beyond her line of sight, Lisa could just hear a pair of shuffling footsteps and despite herself, Lisa let out a small sigh of relief. Evidently neither of them had ended up being killed while out of her sight – that was encouraging. 

Sebastian breezed back into the room quickly, uttering hasty apologies for Riley’s drunken stupor. Of course he couldn’t seem to completely wipe away his own smile. He wasn’t a complete idiot – he knew that this was a small miracle in itself. To see his brother alive, sitting in the Park’s home – it must have seemed something like a dream to him.

Lisa’s smile warmed as he struggled with Riley, brushing off Waylon’s offers of a bed for the night as politely as possible.

Odd, she hadn’t thought he’d refuse the bed.

Slyly Lisa’s eyes shifted over to where Blaire stood, silent and stiff in the doorway, not far from her side. His arms crossed rigidly over his chest, legs anchored firmly apart as if he were expecting some confrontation. It took a second for Lisa to realise that Blaire wasn’t actually gearing up for some sort of fight – he was simply tense while observing the brothers with Waylon. 

Catching her eye, Jeremy seemed to start and then without a word he whipped his steely gaze away from both her and the trio in front of them. While Blaire apparently found something of interest in the empty wall by his side to stare at, a knowing smile slid onto Lisa’s face.

Still stubborn as ever it seemed.

Perhaps deciding to spare Blaire’s pride, Lisa did not comment on his actions and instead turned her attention onto her husband and the brothers. Waylon was fretting – mother hen he was – worried about how Sebastian would get Riley back home in one piece. Logic took a back seat to compassion as he hastily offered them a room for the night.

“Honey.” Lisa cut in smoothly, her level tone easily silencing Waylon’s rambling. “We’re lacking bed space.” 

Waylon paused before realising that Blaire was currently using their spare room and besides their lounges, there wasn’t another bed within the house. An old mattress was in the garage, yes, but the thought of putting either of the brothers on that dusty thing felt more like a disservice than a kindness. 

“R-Right. Well perhaps we could…um--” Back peddling and stuttering, Waylon looked for a way to keep the offer open without putting them on the floor. Sweet of him, if just a little foolish. 

“You’re very kind, Waylon. Don’t let us bother you anymore tonight.” Sebastian said gently, voice holding a familiar tender note that Lisa still questioned from time to time. Just how much of it was authentic or not she struggled to say. At the very least she knew without a doubt that Sebastian did genuinely care about her husband – even so...she wondered about him.

“You’ve slept on worse.” That was Blaire’s voice and suddenly all eyes were on him. Even Lisa glanced up at the man.

Seeming to realize that he’d suddenly commanded all the attention in the room, Blaire shifted uneasily before regaining his composure, followed quickly by a low growl from the back of his throat.

“You’d only go back to sleeping in some shabby rent room anyway. The carpet is probably just as comfortable. Do whatever you want, just make up your mind already – I’m exhausted.”

From the corner of her eye Lisa caught the way Sebastian stared at Jeremy. The unabashed astonishment on his face was rather telling. It didn’t last long and gradually Sebastian’s face dissolved into a smile.

This one’s legitimacy she did not question.

“Jeremy.” Waylon half hissed, half whined. Not quiet able to sound stern with his former employer though he did try. “You promised to be nice.” 

“I don’t remember promising to do _anything_ , Park.” Blaire shot back sharply. “Perhaps if you’d given me a touch more warning before having guests over.” He ventured, tone biting as he stared at Waylon accusingly. 

Admittedly Waylon had rather surprised both herself and Blaire with the Sinclair boy’s visit. He was always a touch of a scatterbrain about these things. 

“Fuck-en…lousy prick...” Riley slurred, speaking up as he slumped on his brother’s shoulder. Sebastian did seem to struggle to keep his bulky brother upright. It was nice to see he was still coherent enough to curse Jeremy in this conversation, although he seemed to be falling asleep fast. His drunken swears only prompted faint amusement among the group.

“Sebastian.” Waylon tried again, voice more gentle this time. “He agreed to see Miles.”

There was a shift in Sebastian’s demeanor when he was told that. First surprise, then uncertainty and then slowly a decision that was chased quickly by a mischievous smile.

“Did you really have to inebriate my brother just to get him to agree to that?” Waylon sputtered in denial but Sebastian only laughed. The sound one of reluctant acceptance. Seemed that everyone was against him and with his brother rapidly becoming deadweight – well…best to just give in. 

Sebastian was clever enough to choose his battles – this one was lost before it ever truly started.

“Where should I dump him?” Sebastian asked, a bemused smile settled on his face. “And perhaps a bucket would not be out of line.”

Lisa was a touch concerned about this arrangement now.

 

…  
…  
…

 

When Riley woke up he was understandably delirious.

Stumbling around the house bleary eyed with a hundred questions on his tongue – the first being where a selection of painkillers could be found. His hangover was not merciful.

Thankfully Waylon was, and he immediately took the poor sod upstairs to find some pills and water. There was every chance Riley would be sick again, keeping him close to the toilet was not the worst idea in the world.

Ultimately Sebastian had opted to sleep in the armchair and given what little extra space he could to Riley. There was a morbid joke in there about him having one less limb to worry about in Jeremy’s head – it certainly stayed put there.

Although it was likely that neither slept much, Sinclair wouldn’t have gone to sleep while his brother was still periodically hugging the bucket Lisa had found for him.

However, unlike his hung-over, miserable big brother – Sebastian had no such problems getting up the next morning and offering to help Lisa in the kitchen. Blaire had been about as disgusted as he was unsurprised by Sinclair’s display of civility. The scent of eggs sizzling away and toast warming had dragged Jeremy out of bed that morning and when he first stepped foot in the kitchen he was jarred by the alarmingly familiar sight of Sinclair standing alone in a kitchen, prepping food.

He stood there, frozen in some sort of state of reminiscence when Sinclair twisted to look over his shoulder and beam at Jeremy. 

“Morning.” Sinclair said, his voice matching the nostalgic haze Jeremy was stuck in. “Sunnyside up?” He asked, tone suggesting he knew damn well what Jeremy wanted – how many times had he cooked breakfast for Jeremy already? Part of him almost expected Sinclair to produce a coffee in the usual small business cup.

It was only when Lisa slid seamlessly into the kitchen, passing between Sinclair and Jeremy that the spell was effectively broken. Awkwardly chasing off any lingering feelings of familiarity, Jeremy shot Sinclair a scathing glance – spitting something about Sinclair cooking his eggs right. The words were automatic but Jeremy wasn’t even sure what he’d said. 

Anything to save face.

“Coffee?” Lisa called as she brought the coffee machine to life, she didn’t glance at either of them as she went about making her own cup. Even the offer came across as somewhat dry – like if either said yes she’d have them make it themselves.

Sinclair easily refused and Jeremy wondered if he was craving hot chocolate instead – probably. The child.

Jeremy on the other hand took a touch longer to answer; it took Lisa turning to look at him with a faintly perturbed expression before he finally realized the offer really did extend to him.

The most ludicrous urge to refuse rose up in him – to be _polite_. He viciously fought that back down. 

“Sounds lovely.” Was what he said instead.

Which was how he ended up standing in front of a cheap coffee machine that he didn’t quite understand.

Jeremy must have been holding the little capsule Lisa had handed him for at least two minutes before Sinclair took notice of him and chuckled. Jeremy was positively livid – he’d never touched one of these things. It was a mix of being too civilian for him and having always had someone else make his drinks for him. Had they put him in front of some martini glasses _that_ he could have worked to perfection.

“Do you want me to…?” Sinclair began to offer from somewhere behind him and Jeremy practically snarled at him.

“I’m perfectly capable!” He shot back, shoulders tense with the capsule squeezed tight between his fingers. This wasn’t difficult, the thing only had a few buttons…but where did the capsule go? Jeremy didn’t see a hole anywhere on this box of a thing.

Sinclair must have been hovering because Jeremy couldn’t hear the crackle of bacon anymore – the man had turned down the heat so he could observe Jeremy safely.

This prompted Jeremy to do the first thing that came to mind – wing it.

As calmly as possible Jeremy put his mug into the slot of the machine, it seemed simple enough and then he selected the only button that had a light on it. Immediately the blasted thing came to life – spitting and groaning like a monster in agony. Jeremy cringed but didn’t allow himself a flinch. The boiling water the machine spit out was just that – water. Maybe a touch murky but otherwise normal.

Just something to clean the machine. 

Realising this Jeremy noticed two other buttons had lit up, good; he had a choice of how much coffee he wanted. Except the capsule was still in his hands and he didn’t know what to do with it.

God he wished he were still ordering someone else to get his coffee. Jeremy refused to make Sebastian do it – he would do it out of mockery, not subservience. 

“Oh, is the latch loose?” Sinclair said innocently, as if he hadn’t been watching Jeremy and finally, _finally_ , it clicked. 

With his only answer a small sound of agitation; Jeremy reached for the top of the machine, popping it open. Under the latch was the hole he’d been looking for. Feeling perhaps a little too smug, Jeremy finally discarded the capsule and slammed the latch down a touch too roughly.

“Well it’s not loose anymore.” The lingering man remarked.

“I’m sorry, do you have a reason to be here, Sinclair?” Jeremy spat back in retaliation to the undeniably amused tone of the burned man’s words. 

Humming contentedly Sinclair switched off the stove entirely, taking the food he’d been cooking and dishing it up onto a serving plate with the rest. “Alright, alright. Just don’t be too long or the food will get cold.”

Jeremy thought that would be the end of it as Sinclair moved past him towards the dinning room. However the man slowed briefly just before he passed by and said a little too calmly.

“Good job.”

Jeremy whipped around to glare holes into Sinclair’s back. Only to catch a glimpse of the man’s sly smirk as he breezed out of the room, leaving Jeremy seething.

Then the machine went pop and Jeremy’s restraint ran out. He smashed his fist against its side simply for making a sound.

“Stupid fucking thing…”

 

…  
…

 

His coffee tasted like poverty. 

Jeremy’s face scrunched up in displeasure as he drank down the stuff, refusing to let all his effort go to waste. Even if the coffee tasted disgustingly civilian. Perhaps his bad mood could have been lifted when he entered the dinning room and spotted a wretched Riley slouched in his chair.

The man looked so positively miserable with his own decisions that Jeremy couldn’t help but feel at least a little better in himself. Jeremy hadn’t been hung-over like Riley currently was for the better part of a year. Part of him looked at the man’s queasy state with a sort of amused fondness – knowing that he’d looked like that from time to time in the past.

The rest of him laughed at how poorly all the Sinclair kids seemed to handle their liquor.

Sinclair was by his brother’s side, making offerings of toast and light foods, nothing that would upset his stomach too much. Riley was like Sebastian in very few ways, but one thing they shared was the overwhelming amount of relief they looked at one another with. As if every time they saw the other brother alive was another second they could relax.

They hadn’t died in the asylum and for the brothers that seemed to be enough.

When Riley saw him entering the dinning room he groaned, low and disbelieving. As if he’d somehow managed to forget Jeremy was indeed here amongst his no doubt muddled memories. The man was even childish enough to lower his head onto his one arm like a cushion so he wouldn’t have to see Jeremy. 

Waylon was sitting with Lisa on one side of the table, while Sebastian and Riley had taken up the other side – leaving Jeremy to have his pick of which side of the table he’d sit at.

He thought nothing of it as he slid into the seat at the head of the table, closest to Sebastian and Lisa. Riley seemed relieved he hadn’t chosen to sit on his side and Jeremy bit back the urge to smirk mirthfully at the man – he wasn’t exactly Riley’s biggest fan either.

His sense of morality was not skewered enough for Jeremy’s tastes.

Perhaps he was being a touch bitter on Rick’s behalf – Rick had taken quite a shine to Riley in a way he never did to Sebastian. Jeremy hadn’t enjoyed picking through Riley’s mind the same way Rick had – he was content to simply exploit and contort the man into many different awkward positions.

Trager had been a little more…thorough in his probing. Jeremy was sure Riley hadn’t forgotten.

To see all of Rick’s hard work gone to waste left Jeremy feeling faintly affronted. If Rick where here he’d no doubt get to work immediately, seeing just what he could pick out of Riley’s thick skull. Even if he were angry that his previous efforts were undone – he wouldn’t waste time sulking. Always ready to jump into action.

If Rick were here…  
That thought troubled Jeremy for exactly as long as he allowed it to take up residency in his mind. He quickly discarded it.

When Jeremy settled in, sitting happily with his dirt coffee clasped between his hands and Sinclair pushing a plate of food towards him with sweetened comments above eating healthy, the conversation began to flow normally. Jeremy did not partake for the most part and Riley seemed unable to muster more than a few words here and there – he tried especially hard to answer whenever Waylon spoke to him.

Guilt seemed to be a trait felt more strongly by Riley, because Sebastian was content to sit there smiling away with that angel act in front of their hosts. His every motion and word was gentle and brimming with a sickening amount of kindness.  Jeremy found that whenever Sinclair addressed him his words became particularly honey sweet. When he noticed this for the first time he balked and then Jeremy could not _stop_ noticing it.

“Jeremy?” Sinclair addressed him, speaking his first name a little higher than usual. Like how someone might talk to a child or cute creature. He sounded like he’d been trying to get Jeremy’s attention for some time. “Did I disturb you?”

Yes, Jeremy wanted to spit, glowering at Sinclair over his mug as best he could. Sinclair was wearing a faintly apologetic look, one that nearly matched with Jeremy’s memory of the therapist from before the asylum.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I should have spoken a bit louder.” Then Sinclair smiled again and the expression was positively oozing with false civility. “Sometimes I forget your age.”

“What?” Jeremy snapped, very nearly shattering his mug as he slammed it down onto the dinning room table.

Waylon winced and Riley let out another groan, followed by a scowl from out the corner of his eye. Lisa was the only one that seemed uninterested in the goings on at the table; she asked offhandedly for Waylon to pass the salt. Which he did, admittedly still looking a touch alarmed by Jeremy’s outburst.

“What the _hell_ are you implying, Sinclair?” Jeremy continued, words biting as he scowled at the innocently smiling man.

Then it clicked.

He saw it in the way Sinclair’s eyes opened just a fraction. The smile didn’t reach them, or at least the right feeling didn’t. His eyes weren’t brimming with any form of benevolence, rather they were alight with mischief. He was _playing_ with Jeremy. 

Somehow that smothered Jeremy’s rage to a dull burn. The kid wanted to play? _Fine_.

“Jeremy.” Waylon spoke up, trying to sound both pacifying and calming with his name alone. “I’m sure Sebby didn’t mean it like that?”

 _Sebby_? Disgusting, sweet – false. Exactly like the man himself. Jeremy could have vomited, except it seemed Riley was on the verge of doing just that. He had the roll covered for both them. 

“Yeah, sure.” Jeremy replied gruffly, seeming to relent as he settled back into his seat and looked back at his dirt coffee. Waylon had just relaxed when Jeremy continued. “I must look old to children.”

Waylon was the one to groan this time, as if he could _not_ believe this was actually happening at his dinning room table. Which admittedly Jeremy could not fault him for – the things that led them here were ridiculous to begin with. There was a faint growling sound from Riley and Jeremy swore he caught a fleeting smile of amusement on Lisa’s face. 

Then over his coffee cup, Jeremy caught Sinclair smirking at him with one of _his_ expressions.

“Riley!” Waylon said sharply, sounding very much like he wanted to have a discussion that was anything but their current one.

Poor Riley made another low moan of complaint; Waylon had almost yelped his name in his panic. It must have agitated his no doubt splitting headache. None the less, Riley forced his head up to look at Waylon when he was being spoken to. Jeremy couldn’t even find it in himself to be amused or disgusted by the effort Riley went to just to try and make it up to Waylon. 

“I know you’re not feeling so well right now, but do you think you’ll still be alright for lunch today?” Waylon asked hopefully, relaxing back to a normal speaking volume as the conversation successfully shifted from age and petty insults.

“Lunch?” Riley mumbled, not quite slurring his words but not far off that mark.

“You promised to visit Miles for lunch today.” Sinclair chimed in, smiling nonchalantly as he focused more on cutting his breakfast than delivering this news to his brother. “Don’t you remember?” 

Evidently not, because suddenly Riley was fully alert, whipping his head up so fast that Jeremy almost winced in sympathy for how much his head must have shrieked in protest at the action. He knew from experience how much a hang over headache could hurt. 

“I…” Riley gaped at his brother and then Waylon as the severity of his drunken compliance sunk in. Slumping forward again, Riley rest his forehead against his clasped hands. “Alright…”

Blaire sneered at Riley’s obedience – it wasn’t nearly as flattering when he performed it for people that were not himself.

With that meek acceptance of his fate, Sebastian offered a consoling pat before returning to his food. Waylon was on the other end of the spectrum, seemingly eager to make this meeting happen. Jeremy wondered just how much time Park had spent with the specter of science. Obviously enough not to immediately piss himself when faced with Walrider.

Admirable. Not that Jeremy would be telling Park that any time soon. 

“What will you do with yourself, Jeremy?” Lisa asked casually as she buttered her toast. Paying it more mind than she did the man she was currently speaking to. “Looks like your whole afternoon is open. The boys won’t be home until later tonight and with the rest of us out of the house – you’ll be on your own.”

The choice of words were at first, seemingly innocent despite touching on a raw nerve. However when Blaire looked at Lisa and found the woman’s gaze still had not shifted his way he began to wonder exactly how innocent the comment really was.

Lisa was nothing if not a perceptive and frankly terrifying woman. Jeremy wouldn’t have put it past her to probe at his sore spots like that. This thought was not particularly troubling.

As to how she knew that they were in fact sore to begin with – well that was a touch more concerning. 

Jeremy didn’t like to think of himself as being transparent. There was a time where no one could read into him anymore than he wanted. That felt like a very long time ago now days.

“I suppose I’ll have to entertain myself.” He replied dryly, not rising to the bait. “Whole house to myself, nice to know you trust me not to burn it to the ground. I’m flattered.”

He hadn’t considered that he’d actually be alone in the house until now. 

Obviously he would not be joining Waylon and the brothers to see Miles. After all the last time they met face-to-face, the Walrider had almost _removed_ his face.

The memory of that night was a doorway to a whole string of separate unpleasant thoughts. The echo of the sound his body made when it broke under the Walrider’s hand the first time still lingered in the back of his mind. Now accompanied by the horrible cracking sound his bones made when they yielded to a hammer.

Among those gut-churning sounds, the memory added in the soft sniffling sound of Sinclair sobbing outside of his door as well as the sticky splat the man’s blood had made as it hit the ground when the Walrider buried his claws into his arm. 

Blaire’s eyes slid over to Sinclair, the man still sporting a gentle smile as he uttered something comforting to Riley. Something that Jeremy didn’t bother to strain his ears to catch – it was no doubt sickly sweet and would just make bile rise in his throat.

As usual Sinclair kept most of his body covered. It wasn’t particularly cold in the house but he still wore long sleeves and the moment they went out Sinclair would probably go looking for gloves or his hoodie. Anything to cover up his disfigurement.

So of course Jeremy couldn’t see his arms. He wasn’t sure if the Walrider had left scars on Sinclair that night. Even if it had, Sinclair’s other injuries were far more dramatic and would snatch the eye before some pitiful animals claw marks did. It was nothing in comparison to what Jeremy left on Sinclair’s body. 

Jeremy felt the most ludicrous sense of vindictive satisfaction at the thought.

Still…he was staring. Sinclair had noticed of course and was giving him a sidelong questioning look. He couldn’t flat out ask in front of the other house residence but he certainly would if Jeremy gave him the chance. He wouldn’t.

But even with that in mind, he didn’t make an effort to stop staring at Sinclair’s arm – imagined scars irritating him. 

The rest of the breakfast passed without incident. Although Blaire did find himself beginning to join Riley in the headache department, as Waylon got chattier with every sip of coffee he had. 

Jeremy cringed inwardly and tried to keep his answers short and bordering on hostile, never daring go far enough to invoke Lisa’s displeasure. Waylon had never been particularly chatty in the asylum – for good reason. People who talked were liable to end up dead or vanish entirely.

Maybe that was not the most accurate comment on Waylon’s character – he had ultimately talked and almost ended up dead. They’d sort of botched that last part and so here Waylon sat, happily chittering away about anything that popped into his head. 

He hadn’t seen Waylon this upbeat in…well perhaps ever. His memory of Park was mostly filled with the terrified mouse of a man he knew from the asylum and the quietly happy man he’d seen with his family. Neither perfectly fit the animated man that sat at the table with them that morning. It was very much like he was a child they were all tolerating with varying amounts of affection and indulgence. 

Waylon was particularly excited about Riley’s acceptance – because that’s exactly what it was, begrudging acceptance – in seeing Miles. Jeremy was only half listening as he explained that, while he had not seen too much of Miles after the asylum, he had it in good knowledge that it would help the man rest easy if Riley saw him.

It was difficult not to chime in at any point in time. To ask exactly why Waylon hadn’t seen much of Miles, to remind Park that he was just as uncomfortable at the thought of seeing the Walrider as everyone else at the table was. Well, excluding Lisa…and Sinclair – so actually it would just be Riley and himself that were made uncomfortable by the idea. 

Jeremy chose not to dwell on that. 

Lisa departed first. With a brief goodbye to her husband and company. Jeremy stared pointedly at his plate as she lay a gentle kiss to Waylon’s temple. He knew that the man would be wearing that happily smitten expression long after she left. So he opted to instead look at the remains of his breakfast instead. 

“Do either of you have anything to do today?” Waylon asked when Lisa vanished out the door with a quiet click. Not to return until the sun was setting and the boys would need picking up. 

“Even if we did I feel like today would be a sick day.” Sinclair mused, glancing at his sulking older brother. A better man would have flipped Sebastian off for the comment but Riley remained fairly docile, offering up only a half-hearted scowl.

“You’re not as busy these days, Sebastian.” Park noted as he began to collect up plates, pausing uncertainly on Blaire’s when he noticed the man still idly jabbing at what was left of his food. More likely than not he simply didn’t want his hand to end up being the replacement for the cold piece of bacon he was stabbing.

He left Blaire’s plate well enough alone.

“Does it seem that way?” Came Sebastian’s evasive reply. No one had missed the question in Park’s words. It only took Jeremy a few seconds longer to realise when Sebastian was suddenly without chores to attend to.

He was no longer keeping a dirty little secret hidden away in a cabin in the woods. 

Jeremy didn’t outwardly respond to this realisation, having figured out it was best to internalise all that he possibly could when it came to the Sinclair boys. It felt eerily similar to how he’d hold everything close to his chest back at the asylum, only letting it out in small bursts of rage and the occasional rant to Rick.

“Well…” Park struggled for a way to continue his line of questioning without right out nagging Sebastian. Jeremy wondered how long Park had been trying to get Sebastian back into the swing of normal human life.

Wondered how long he’d been too much of a cowards just to call Sebastian out on it.

Waylon had moved on. Faster than any of them actually. He attended to his family, found work for himself – began to function in a normal person again. All the while Blaire spent his hours looking over his shoulder, weary of who might be trying to stab him in the back next. Sebastian on the other hand had hardly moved on from the asylum at all – he was still utterly mad. Riley was still just waking up from all this shit as well. 

How was it Park – jittery, stammering, Waylon Park – had managed to gather the pieces of his life he’d dropped in the asylum and assembled them so quickly? The rest of them were still just looking for the pieces in the dark. 

Blaire was still trying to remember if he had any pieces to begin with.

“When will the boys be home tonight?” He cut in sharply. Sebastian was only going to feed Park lies or pretty words – might as well stop that waste of time before it really got started. 

“Oh. Um…” Waylon hesitated, juggling dirty plates and now a few sauce bottles in his arms. Jeremy watched idly wondering if he’d drop them in his attempts to make short work of the mess. He ought to take his time and get it done right. “Well they’re not going to be home until at least six. Why?” 

Why indeed. Blaire didn’t have an immediate answer for Park and so he simply shrugged with a vaguely unfriendly sound from low in the back of his throat as his only response.

He’d just asked because it was the first thing that came to mind. Because he knew the house would be empty in a matter of hours, it would be empty with just him for the first time since he’d arrived.

Strangely enough that felt both nostalgic and unfamiliar in the same moment. He hadn’t been alone – not truly – since Sinclair found his haggard wreck of a body in that run down house. From that moment on he’d only been left with the smallest windows of solitude and even they had been erased when Sebastian dedicated himself to staying by Blaire’s side after the first ill thought out escape attempt.

After that he’d been with one of the Park family members at all times. Ever conscious of their weary eyes on him, even the kids provided some sort of constant company. Jeremy had never so thoroughly suffocated with company in all his life. 

If the house was to be empty it would throw him all the way back to childhood. Admittedly this house was much more cramped and filled to the brim with haphazardly tossed about toys. It was small, warm and overly cheap when compared to the big empty house Jeremy remembered. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be all that nostalgic when factoring those differences.

The conversation shriveled after that. Park was anxious no doubt and it showed in the way he buzzed around the kitchen cleaning down the counters and table after having cleared them. He refused the help Sebastian offered and began to do a second sweep, cleaning the table again. He was keeping busy, those nerves of his making him a small ball of anxious energy.

Sebastian looked a little put out by the refusal and Jeremy quietly snickered. Remembering how avid Sebastian had been about cleaning their little shit hole of a shack. It must have gathered dust since Jeremy was gone – it was probably driving Sinclair mad knowing that. 

Jeremy’s plate was eventually taken but he was left with the knife to idly toy with. Just something to keep his own hands busy. Riley was eventually escorted to the lounge where Park instructed him to rest up. No doubt wanting him to be in a better condition when he was finally presented to Miles. But Sebastian didn’t go to join his brother which did surprise Jeremy.

He had not expected Sebastian to so willingly detach himself from his hung over brother. Yet the man stayed seated at the table with Jeremy, not looking at him at all. Instead Sebastian stared down into the mug clasped between his hands. Whatever he’d had in it must have been gone or cold by now, but just like Jeremy’s knife, it had not been taken away.

It didn’t take long for the only sounds in the house to belong to Park rushing around. If Jeremy really strained he thought he could pick up the difference between Park’s real foot and the replacement when he walked by. Maybe he imagined it but the prosthetic sounded just a little rougher to his ears.

As he worked, Park would sometimes talk. Mostly to Riley. Breezing in and out of the living room to ask if Riley needed anything. For a man who had wronged Waylon so cruelly – he was certainly being treated well. It was no doubt out of kindness or some attempt to rekindle the good relationship they’d once had but his attempts to be nice would no doubt be carving the guilt deeper into Riley.

Jeremy snorted in amusement.

How like Park to unintentionally hurt someone by doing something kind for them. It seemed to be one of the only ways he was capable of genuinely hurting another person.

Well, maybe not the case for Gluskin. Of course in Park’s rendition of the event it was hardly a planned murder – more just a happy accident. Not that he’d call it that, twitching and fidgeting with every word he spoke about his ordeal. He really hadn’t tried to kill the maniac – he just didn’t want to be killed by him either. 

Wouldn’t matter to Gluskin.  
Dead was dead.

“Sinclair.” The man startled when Jeremy spoke to him. Obviously not expecting to actually be spoken to. “When you go to visit that freak today—”

“ _Miles_.”

“--I don’t suppose you’ll think about taking some form of protection?” 

Clearly Sebastian hadn’t been expecting that, or maybe he genuinely hadn’t thought of it. The blonde was staring at Jeremy like he’d grown a third head. It was one of those rare expressions that was neither fake nor infuriated Blaire.

There was a pause as if Sebastian was weighing up his options on how to respond. Eventually he glanced over his shoulder towards the living room where the sounds of Riley and Waylon chatting back and forth could just faintly be heard. Satisfied they weren’t going to be overheard, Sebastian turned back to face Blaire and brought out a lazy smirk.

“My, how forward of you Blaire. I must say I never took you for the type to--” 

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant when I said protection, Sinclair.” Jeremy snapped, only just able to hush his voice enough that it wouldn’t catch the attention of the other two in the next room. 

Some of Sebastian’s amusement faded at that, evidentially unable to divert the actual course of the conversation with his mocking. To his credit he really had tried – Sinclair had never exactly been the best at crude humour, so Blaire gave him an A for effort and an F for effect. Like most of his life.

“Protection?” He repeated lowly, as if tasting how the word felt on his tongue. There was no teasing in his tone this time, caution taking its place. “Why on earth would you suggest such a thing?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because he literally has a demon robot using him as a base body.” Jeremy snipped back, irritated by Sebastian’s blatant lack of concern.

Again his eyes dropped to the man’s arms and he wondered. Hadn’t they had enough already?

“Wouldn’t matter what I take.” Sebastian answered reasonably. “Guns didn’t help the guards and your knife didn’t help _you_.”

Jeremy bristled; Sebastian knew that was a low blow. But really he should have expected as much from the prick. Before Jeremy could tell Sebastian just what he might manage with a knife against _him_ – Sebastian continued, cutting off his murderous thoughts.

“Besides, we’re going to see a friend not a threat. There’s no danger.” Sebastian hesitated, fingers tightening around the mug. He continued more cautiously. “I may mention you to him. Tell Miles what happened to you after that night. He won’t believe me without Waylon there to back me up. I wouldn’t believe you were here if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.” 

This time when Sebastian smirked it was equal parts entertained and incredulous. As if he was still wrapping his brain around this. 

“Who would have thought it? You living under the Park’s roof.” 

“Do try not to rub it in.” Jeremy was not surprised when Sebastian tossing him that lopsided half of a grin. It seemed to match up with his disfigured face. Jeremy didn’t return the expression and gradually Sebastian’s face fell back into one of uncertainty. 

“It…Walrider won’t try to hurt you so long as it knows you’re not going to hurt Waylon. Why it became endeared to him over everyone else, I will never understand.” There was a hint of anger in Sebastian that Jeremy may have missed had he not known the man so well. Oh and he _did_ know Sebastian – better than he cared to.

“Is that jealousy or resentment?” Jeremy mocked, not expecting much of an answer beyond a glare. He was alarmed when he got both.

“It tore off my brother’s arm. But it protected Waylon. They…both of them are good people – why didn’t Walrider…?” Clearly frustrated Sebastian let the thought die and it was the blonde’s turn to be surprised when Jeremy picked up the slack.

“Funny.” Jeremy muttered and the look Sinclair tossed him wasn’t so much a scowl as it was questioning. Although there was no lack of spite in the stare. "It didn’t hurt _you_.” 

It slowly dawned on Sinclair what Jeremy was hinting at. The two scenes were not all that different from one another. Park had been attacked by Jeremy – an action he refused to be sorry for to this day – and Walrider reared up in defense of the techie. If it could really be called defense or simply a choice of better prey anyone could argue. 

However when it had torn into the older Sinclair boy – it had done so only when Riley came running. Running for his brother, reaching out to him – wearing a _guard’s_ uniform and the Walrider’s unusual protective streak had reared its ugly head a second time. 

It was almost satisfying to see the exact moment when the realisation properly struck Sinclair. To watch him groan and curl in on himself, head bowed low as guilt and shame hit him with the force of freight train. Jeremy watched Sebastian’s shoulder’s tremble with the force to not be...what? Angry? Sad? Jeremy couldn’t say for sure but he kept on watching as Sebastian attempted to even out his breathing and calm down. 

He wasn’t doing so well.

“What’s done is done.” Jeremy said when it became clear that Sinclair wasn’t going to find his peace on his own. “Get over it. It’s not like Walrider is suddenly going to decide it wants to kill you now. Lord only knows it had plenty of chances.” 

Even when the creature had made a second attempt on Jeremy’s life – it had not torn Sinclair apart to get to the man it wanted. Sinclair had nothing to worry about. With Park, the monsters seemingly favourite person and Riley, the other person the creature seemed even faintly endeared to, present it was highly unlikely it was going to try and hurt anyone. Even Jeremy Blaire.

It seemed his comments had done the trick because Sinclair’s shoulders had stopped shaking. Only to be replaced a moment later with the tremors of laughter in its place.

“You…you really are an impossible bastard.” Sinclair laughed in disbelief and Jeremy couldn’t help the slight upwards twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Satisfied with that, Jeremy returned to toying with the knife he’d been granted. Wondering if Park would object terribly if he tried his hand at throwing it at Sebastian. The thought was entertaining and it kept him amused long after their conversation died away. Leaving in its wake a faintly satisfied feeling curling in Jeremy’s gut. He thought that for now he’d done enough.

He didn’t look at Sinclair’s arms again. 

 

…  
…  
…

  

Waylon was hesitant to leave Blaire alone. 

A fortnight ago it would have been for fear that Blaire would do something inexcusably evil the moment he turned his back. Waylon didn’t know what that would be but he’d been convinced it would be positively villainous.

Even now as he drove through town, with both Sinclair boys packed into his car, Waylon worried. However now his worries were a very different brand of fear.

What if Blaire accidentally burnt down the building in an attempt to make toast? What if he somehow managed to break something in the pipes and flooded the place trying to draw a bath? What if he somehow blew up the television? Maybe he’d break a prized vase that they most certainly didn’t have the money to own – or suddenly adopt a litter of puppies.

Okay that last on was a little too saintly for Blaire.

A litter of dragons.

No. A litter of furniture chewing dragons. A litter of furniture chewing, toilet paper shredding, baby eating, ebay scouring dragons. _A litter of –_

“Waylon, you’re making the face again.” Sebastian pointed out, breaking Waylon from his slow descent into madness. 

Slumping slightly in his seat, hands still firmly on the wheel Waylon let out a weary sigh. He could actually feel the way Sebastian was smiling at him, split between sympathy and amusement.

“It’s just weird, Seb.” Waylon lamented. “Living with him. Having him there. Having him be so _human_.” More than that, he’d discovered that Jeremy Blaire was very much a child. An immoral, cursing, overly bitter child.

“I mean when he showed up I was piss scared. I thought I was done, going back to hell and he was the devil, or something. But then he was just sorta… _there_.” Waylon explained as best he could, grappling for the words to fully clarify his predicament. With one hand being used to make vauge confused hand gestures and the other staying on the steering wheel. “I thought he was all evil grins and blackmail but then he bled when I hit him and cursed like anyone would. He was a mess!”

In the passenger’s seat Sebastian hummed something that sounded like an agreement. The sound was most likely just a courtesy to prompt Waylon on, because Waylon most certainly wasn’t done talking.

“It was so much easier to hate him when everything – literally every breath he took – was some sort of slight on humanity. But then he crawls out of god only knows where and starts acting like a real person might. He bleeds like a person, he gets angry and talks like a real guy. A really bitchy, drama queen sure but still a real person.”

Sebastian was listening tolerantly as Waylon began to really get himself worked up. He’d been talking about Blaire from the moment they stepped into the car and it was testament to Sebastian’s patience that he didn’t even try to divert the conversation. A very one-sided conversation at that.

“Then he’s playing with the kids and I thought for sure that was where it’d go back to normal. Like he’d try to recruit them into Satan’s ranks or something. But no! He spends hours just showing them how to play golf or watching Disney movies with them. Where the hell does he get off thinking that’s okay? Watching Disney like he isn’t some soulless monster!”

“Waylon.”

“And he does the dishes and only swears when the kids aren’t around. Then Jackie is telling me that he loves ‘ _uncle_ _Jer’_ and, god love and forgive me, I don’t know if that’s adorable or horrifying.”

“Waylon...”

“I must be crazy. The asylum made me completely crazy because I keep finding myself thinking that maybe he’s not the worst thing alive. After all the shit he did, how can I feel anything but hatred and fear whenever I see him? I mean--”

“Waylon!” Finally Sebastian broke through and when Waylon sheepishly turned to look at his friend, the blonde was looking at him with an expression that was entirely too understanding.

He was expecting frustration, expecting Sebastian to finally have reached his breaking point with Waylon’s rambling, but instead Sebastian was looking at him like he was really listening and really _understood_.

It was the same expression he’d seen so many times when they entered that little coffee shop and talked in hushed voices over cooling hot drinks about the horrors they endured. One such horror had always been Jeremy Blaire. They’d always agreed that he was the worst, and he deserved all he got. 

And yet there was that expression. Being worn as Waylon said almost the complete opposite.

“You’re not a hateful person, Waylon.” Sebastian told him gently.

“Grudges aren’t exactly your strong suit and…” He paused, glancing into the backseat where Riley had fallen asleep. He’d been so keyed up earlier, nervous and fidgeting in the back until exhaustion took him. Going from hung over to terrified in a matter of hours must have been tiring. “…we’re all better for it.

“That’s not the same.” Waylon murmured, risking a glance in the mirror to see Riley’s sleeping form. “Riley isn’t the same.”

“Waylon, _we_ hurt you.”

He tried not to cringe as the memories returned. Not just of Gluskin and the other variants – all now dead and gone. But of Blaire and his knife, Sebastian and his scissors, Riley and his heavy, bruising hands. Miles and the Walrider. The horrors that followed him through the asylum had taken on the faces of friends now – and while Waylon tried not to look back, sometimes he could still see the memory of those tormentors in those faces. 

Just brief moments. Fleeting instances when he caught Sebastian’s smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes or Riley’s hard gaze. They barely lasted a second but whenever it happened the air was punched from Waylon’s lungs and he had to stop. Had to still himself and find something to ground him. Usually it was Lisa or the boys. Their presence reminding him that he was here and now – that those memories were just that. _Memories_.

But they were still there.

“I’m so tired of being scared, Seb.” Waylon sighed, eyes lingering on the road despite not really paying attention. He knew these roads like the back of his hand, and it was quiet out in the small town today. “I’m so _tired_ of being angry.” 

There was a moment of silence where Sebastian took those words in and considers them. Waylon might not have been as sharp as Lisa – he knew he wasn’t. Although in his opinion, no one was as sharp as his lovely wife. If they wanted to dispute that best to take it up with her, let them learn first hand. But there were a few things that even he could pick up with enough attention. 

Like the way Sebastian took his word almost like it was gospel. When Sebastian had a doubt in him, about himself or anything he did – he asked Waylon. Without fail he’d take the answer and become silent for a while. 

Waylon would have liked to know what was going through his mind. To know how he picked apart the answers he was given and what conclusions he came to. Had Waylon actually ever given him a shred of good advice? Had he ever been able to help Sebastian at all? 

He dearly hoped so. Because Sebastian had helped him find his grounding. With a weekly coffee meet up and mutual grieving. Waylon wanted to be able to give Sebastian that same sense of comfort. 

Because, no matter how the man tried to hide it, Waylon knew he wasn’t there yet. He tried to smile it away and while Waylon reveled in seeing him happy – he could still see the distance in Sebastian’s eyes. For the longest time he’d thought… _feared_ that Sebastian didn’t plan to live much longer. Somewhere along the way that feeling had ebbed away. 

Waylon couldn’t explain what had changed to take away that fear, but something had grounded Sebastian.  
And it hadn’t been Waylon that had done that.

Finally Sebastian took away whatever it was he needed from Waylon’s comments and turned back to the man. Unaware of what his friend was thinking himself. For a man so clever when it came to others – Sebastian could be alarmingly blind when it came to other’s thoughts on him. Did he think that no one thought anything of him?

“Like I said, it’s not in your nature to hate. It’s one of the wonderful things about you.” Sebastian smiled when he spoke but it left a hollow feeling in its wake. Something about that answer concerned Waylon.

He’d never been a brave person. Waylon had fought to survive. Thought of his wife and children – done whatever he had to do to make it out alive. But he didn’t think of that as bravery. It was survival in its purest state. Bravery was the readiness to stand and defend what one believed in, to take the plunge and say ‘I love you’ to that special one – to stand up to a friend when something was amiss.

Waylon had never called Sebastian on all he wouldn’t tell him. Never dared ask for those answers. He’d waited and hoped that one day Sebastian would tell him. He hadn’t and now Waylon felt something like time slipping by, right out his hands.

He _had_ to ask.

“What about you?” Waylon asked as casually as possible. His voice sounded shaky even to his own ears.

“What about me?” Sebastian replied, only a hint of teasing in his voice. Waylon could shrug it off if he wanted, Sebastian left that open to him.

He didn’t. This time he could be brave and ask. Because if he didn’t there was every chance that time would run out and take the opportunity from him. 

“Are you… well I mean…” Waylon cursed himself, looking for the right words. Ones that weren’t too obvious but also got the message across – the ones he needed to get a real answer. “Is this enough? Are you happy?”

Sebastian was staring at him. Waylon could just see him from the corner of his eye and he stared intently at the road ahead of them. He wouldn’t be a coward. Not when for the first time in months Waylon could feel something good just within their grasp. He could feel happiness beginning to slip through their fingers.

They could have so much. His family could be safe, the brothers could look after one another, Miles could get his life back together. They could _so_ happy and Waylon wanted that _so_ badly. 

And Waylon was terrified that it would be his cowardice that allowed Sebastian to ruin everything. Because he never asked. 

“Waylon…?”

Waylon’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Is this enough to be happy?” He ground out more harshly than he meant to. “I know how you feel when you look at Jeremy. Believe me, I _know_. But if we do this right, if we keep it together and try to be happy and stop being so angry and hurt – maybe it’ll turn out okay. I’m not asking you to forgive Blaire or forget everything that happened. But—”

He sounded angry, angry and desperate. Waylon knew he wasn’t controlling his words well enough but he’d finally garnered the courage to say the things he wanted to say and now they were coming out more quickly than he could think to censor himself.

“--but can’t this, just _this_ be enough for you?”

There was silence in the car. Broken only but the sound of the engine thrumming away and the occasional sound of Riley shifting in his sleep. Sebastian was still staring at him and Waylon couldn’t force himself to meet that stare head on. Then very slowly Sebastian’s gaze slipped towards the window and Waylon for a terrifying second thought he’d overstepped his bounds and actually upset Sebastian.

“Have you?” Sebastian asked quietly. “Forgiven him. Have you really?”

He didn’t have an immediate answer to that. Because when Waylon thought of Blaire first there came the mocking and breaking of a computer. Then a crowbar and finally a knife. The memories came more savagely than any of the others these now familiar faces conjured up. The pain still felt very real, the fear and anger even more so.

And Waylon was exhausted. Just like he said. He’d had enough of the hate and fear.

“No.” Waylon answered honestly after a beat of silence. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him and I will never forget what happened.”

“Then you understand why I--”

“But I want to.” Sebastian stopped dead when Waylon said those words and he could almost hear the disbelief in the man’s silence. So Waylon surged on ahead. “I want to move on, Sebastian.”

“I don’t need to forgive what he’s done. But I think…that I can let go of the hatred. I’ve heard him waking up screaming at night, no different from my own. I’ve seen him try to get by and even – in his own way – try to do the right thing. I can’t demonize someone when I watch them doing the exact same thing I am trying to do day in and out.

He paused, familiar words coming back to him in that moment and finally he turned his head to glance at Sebastian. Waylon smiled.

“They’re only human after all.” 

Sebastian turned away; he must have thought Waylon couldn’t see the pain blooming his eyes. Maybe throwing Sebastian’s words back in his face, the words he’d held onto so tightly before the asylum, was cruel. But Waylon knew that Sebastian had to hear it – they both did.

“It’s difficult to hate someone when you realise just how human they are. I’m done _trying_ to keep hating him or anyone else. Our lives are worth more than that.” 

Waylon turned back to the road, pretending not to see Sebastian rubbing his eyes furiously. He could at least preserve his friend’s pride.

“So?” Waylon prompted after giving Sebastian a few seconds to compose himself. “Can this be enough for you?”

Then just like he always did. Sebastian took Waylon’s words and broke them down in his mind. Just like always, Waylon waited. It took longer than usual, Sebastian was very carefully going over what Waylon had said this time and he dared not rush the man. By the time Sebastian seemed willing to speak – they were nearing their destination and soon they’d have to see how well Miles and Riley would communicate.

To see if it was enough for the two of them as well. Waylon was betting on yes. Riley seemed content to simply be alive and have his brother safe as well. That could be enough for him and hopefully Riley would be as forgiving as Waylon was and he could give Miles peace of mind. This could be enough.

“Waylon, I…” Sebastian cleared his throat, voice trembling when he first tried to speak. “I want to be happy with this. I _want_ to.”

And for now that was enough.

Waylon had asked, he’d done what he felt he had to do and even though the answer was not quite all the way there – it was a start. So he didn’t push anymore as they pulled into the car park closest to the place Miles had chosen for lunch.

“Well come on then.” Waylon said gently to Sebastian. “Lets wake your brother and try.”

This time when Sebastian smiled it was weak and still tinged with something sad but it reached his eyes and that was enough.  
He was sure this time – they could be happy with this much. They just had to hold on tight and not let it slip through their fingers.

This could be enough.


	15. Fear of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for...most everything I guess. How long it took to get here and the quality of this chapter.  
> If you got anything to say or request or corrections to make please come tell me. My typo game is strong.

Waylon was getting uncomfortable flashbacks to when the Sinclair boys had first laid eyes on Jeremy back at his house. The stillness then was easily recreated between the four of them when Miles came into the picture.

Admittedly he should have expected as much, but Waylon had been quietly optimistic about the whole thing.

Coffee had seemed like a good idea. Coffee and therapy sessions had become a staple of sorts among the group. But as Miles sat across from the two brothers, steaming hot coffee clasped tightly between his hands, knuckles white, Waylon began to wonder if this method best suited Miles. No one had seemed ready to speak for a while. After the initial greetings things had turned cold.

Waylon sat quietly next to Miles, occasionally taking stock of the man's expression as the time passed. On the other side of the table, Sebastian did the same for his brother. Occasionally offering a hushed word of encouragement but neither he nor Waylon had been able to convince their partners to speak. Waylon knew Miles was working through some quite literal demons in his head and Riley would be struggling through fears all his own.

Very rarely one would take a look at the other. Miles turned away in guilt and Riley couldn't seem to muster the courage to look directly at the journalist long enough to strike up conversation.

It had not done them any favours when they first arrived and immediately had Walrider jump them. It meant no harm but how were they to know that? It was a small miracle that Riley didn't quit right then and there, or passed out on spot when the creature – still inhabiting Mile's body – pounced on him.

Admittedly Wayon had not faired much better his first time seeing Walrdier again. The creature had a surprisingly affectionate disposition for a robotic specter of hell. Actually, once Waylon moved past the small heart attack he experienced every time the demon reared its ugly head, Walrider was rather cat like. It  _nuzzled_  for god's sake. Leaving Miles as its rather reluctant provider. It felt somewhat insulting that the harbinger of all evil, the result of all Murkoff's atrocities chalked up to little more than an ill-mannered house pet.

The silence was stretching. Waylon felt his own nerves beginning to get the better of him and the fidgeting started. It wasn't until he started tapping his prosthetic foot that Sebastian tossed him a warning glance. He knew better than the other two just how quickly Waylon's nerves could be his undoing, if he let his anxiety get much higher there was every chance he would bolt before Miles or Riley even attempted to bail.

Finally,  _finally_ , one of them spoke.

"So…" Miles began slowly, searching for some kind of back up from the other two. "How are you getting along?"

Perhaps not the most creative start in the world, one riddled with potential hazards and hidden land mines, but at least it was something. There was a beat of silence as Riley shifted uncomfortable in his seat and despite himself Waylon found his eyes drifting over to Riley's missing arm. He wondered how many times Miles had looked at it by now or rather tried  _not_  to look.

"I'm…fine." Riley answered slowly, daring a glance up at Miles. He was able to hold this look longer than the others. "We…well we haven't properly met before have we?"

"Not really." Miles admitted reluctantly.

This was the first time the pair had ever exchanged words. Miles had not met Riley in that asylum – that had been Walrider and nothing else. Perhaps that made it easier for them or maybe harder by distancing their first exchange from one another. By laying blame on the creature in Miles as opposed to the reporter himself.

It must have been killing Sebastian to stay silent but the younger brother didn't offer up a single word. He was not a particularly quiet person by nature, an avid speaker, but he was keeping a tight lid on it currently – allowing Miles and Riley the space to speak.

"Alright." Riley shifted again as if unable to get comfortable but he latched onto this idea and rolled with it. "What was work like?" No one missed the past tense to the question. Miles could hardly return to the walk force when he was prone to suddenly losing control of the Walrdier. Being out in public was a danger within itself. A risk they'd taken today in order to keep them all feeling fairly comfortable, Riley wouldn't have met Miles in a private space.

Miles didn't dwell on the wording.

"Work was hell." He answered flatly, a faintly grumpy sort of expression on his face. "You ever have an editor breathing down your neck? Deadlines are killers. But it was interesting you know? I got to look into all sorts of things."

No one mentioned how perhaps that was not the best thing in the world, considering where he ended up. Instead they all played on this small act of normalcy, allowing the conversation to flow as though there was not a massive amount of things being unsaid between them.

"Not much of a writer myself." Riley grunted, glancing down at his coffee less out of nerves and more because he genuinely wanted to drink it. He'd been waiting for the drink to cool since he got it and he'd shrugged off Sebastian's offers of sugar or milk – much to his brother's genuine disgust. Riley liked to let his drinks go from scorching hot to dead cold before drinking them and Waylon was amazed that the habit hadn't caused Sebastian to cringe himself into a constant state of disgust. Not that he had a leg to stand on when his tea was more sugar than liquid.

Unwilling to let the conversation die, Miles glanced over at Sebastian for some help. "How about you, Sin? How's the job hunt going?"

Waylon could almost see the moment where Sebastian's pleasant smile turned icy. It was a small miracle that his face didn't start twitching with the effort to stop from scowling. Evidentially having Waylon ask about his job situation every time they spoke made Miles asking something of a final straw. Still he tried not to snap and Waylon in turn tried not to show how uncomfortable Sebastian's unpleasant smile made him.

"I don't have one just yet." He replied evenly, only for Miles to shake his head and adopt an incredibly shady expression. Waylon swore he even made shift eyes like a teenager going for overly suspicious.

Sebastian's expression soured further and his eye did actually begin to twitch.

"Oh. Right, right." Miles murmured. "I just mean, did you finish up with that other little job? You know the one?"

Sebastian took a long, deep breath – forcing himself to keep from reaching over the table to punching Miles in the mouth. Then slowly he opened his eyes again, once he was positive the urge to strike Miles had faded enough to no longer be a concern.

"Miles." He began calmly. "I haven't had a job since the asylum. You're imagining things."

"What? But—" Sebastian's eyes hardened and Miles retracted his comments with a quiet mumble of apology. He then dove for Waylon, deeming Sebastian to be too dangerous a conversation partner. 

"How about you, peg?" Waylon bit his tongue to stop from groaning. That nickname had better not stick. Although given the pirate related jokes Miles sometimes tossed his way, his false leg was probably going to be source of much amusement for many years to come. "Still flouncing around the house?"

"I do  _not_  flounce."

"Oh, you most certainly do." Miles retorted.

"I do  _not_!" Waylon protested, whipping around to look at Sebastian and Riley. The eldest made himself busy with his coffee while Sebastian merely smiled over his cup. "I don't!" He implored, looking for some type of back up.

"Flounce is such a…." Sebastian paused, waving his hand with a flick of his wrist, as if he could snatch the right word out of air. "…inelegant term for it."

"Flutter, then?" Miles put forward eagerly.

Sebastian took the word for a moment, rolled it around in his mind and then returned with a small smirk and nod of approval. "Yes, flutter, quite acceptable."

"Frolic." Riley muttered over his coffee. Weighing in before catching Waylon's indignant gaze and hastily tried to hide his laugh as a cough.

From his side Sebastian once again gave his verdict. "Also acceptable."

"That's it!" Waylon practically yelped, wanting to throw his hands down on the table and shoot up like he was staring in an action movie and had just placed his foot down. He would have too, had he not been so acutely aware of the eyes that would turn on him in irritation if he made too much noise. The result, a muffled thump as his hands tapped down on the table. "I did not put all this distance between me and that infernal house just to have you lot make fun of me instead!"

By infernal house Waylon of course meant their current houseguest. Blaire's very presence was often a mockery in itself and the man never attempted to spare Waylon the most blunt of observations. Flat out insults were also in abundance when Jeremy was feeling chatty.

He said nothing about Blaire with Miles present. He wasn't sure how to tackle that conversation or if he even wanted to just yet.

The laughter that Riley had been holding back came out as a choked snort while Miles happily laughed out loud at Waylon's expense. Sebastian, ever the courteous one, kept silent with little more than a smirk as he quietly sipped his hot chocolate.

"I am your ride home." Waylon threatened the pair and got little more than a faintly apologetic glance from the still sniggering Riley and a wider smile from Sebastian.

"Home?" Miles asked once his laughter had receded. "You guys playing house?" Waylon failed to notice the little flinch from Sebastian as the blonde curled his hands tighter around his cup.

"We were drinking last night." The 'we' was generous and judging by how Riley shrank back in shame, he knew it. "Some of us needed a place to collapse."

"Huh." Miles leant back in his booth and Waylon noticed his fingertips beginning to drum against the hard surface of the table. That in itself was hardly concerning, however the wisp of black between his nails set Waylon on edge. Knowing that Walrider was always just under the surface. "So you stayed the whole night?" His eyes were fixed on Sebastian and that tight smile had returned to the blonde's face. "All of it?"

"That is generally what staying the night implies, yes." Sebastian snipped back before taking a purposeful drink from his cup. Miles was still watching him and finally something in Sebastian caved. "We had nothing else to do anyway. I don't have anything on my plate except for hospital bills. Which by the way." He added sharply. "I have a plan to pay for."

Waylon wasn't sure what he was watching as Miles searched Sebastian's face. For what? A lie maybe? Waylon knew Sebastian to have become a rather private person since the asylum but flat out lying had never struck Waylon as something that Sebastian had ever partaken in.

Clearly tired of being scrutinized Sebastian gave a soft sigh and returned Mile's searching look with a scathing one of his own. "My hands are clean."

"Ha!" Waylon and Riley both jumped when Miles slapped his palm down onto the table, a broad grin spreading across his face. His hit to the table was a considerably louder one than Waylon's attempts to be assertive. He tried not to let that wound his pride. "I knew it! So the old bastard is gone then? Ya didn't kill him, but he's gone for good now, right?"

Waylon had never seen someone's body snap up straight and go so deathly still in all his life. There Sebastian sat, fingers clenching his mug so tight they'd turned white, sporting a look that Waylon could only describe as his 'desperately trying not to leap across the table and throttle Miles' expression.

"Miles." Sebastian ground out the reporter's name through his teeth, imploring he stop speaking, to no avail.

"You had me worried for a moment there, Sin!" Miles exclaimed, still wearing a cheerful expression. "I thought after all these months you were going to actually kill the guy. Not that he deserves much better but I'm glad you got it out of your system."

"Seb?" Riley began to ask only for Sebastian to quickly try and brush off his questions, opening his mouth to once again request Mile shut his.

"It's better to have that bastard Blaire out of the picture. Where'd you put him in the end? It's been months."

Only after those words had been said did Waylon see not one person, but a whole cluster of people around one table go straight and then still.

Waylon himself felt a cold chill pass over him as he tried to decipher Mile's words. His first thought was wondering how Miles came to even know about Jeremy being around with none of them having told him. Then his mind quickly reworked the wording on Miles comment and realised that was not at all what he had implied. Then finally Waylon looked at Sebastian.

It clicked.

"Thank you  _very_  much, Miles." Sebastian seethed, knowing the man had not meant to throw him under the bus but still feeling the rage directed at Miles for it. He did his best to push down that anger and not lash out at the oblivious reporter.

"Sebastian." Waylon began slowly, a smile forced onto his face as he tried to stop from just shouting at the man. His voice shot up an octave or two, the result a sickly sweet tone that had no place coming from Waylon's mouth. "Something you'd like to tell us?"

Sebastian cringed. Shrinking away from Waylon's overly sunny tone as it washed over him leaving a sense of impending doom in its wake. A glance at his brother left Sebastian with nowhere else to run to avoid accusing eyes. All the while Miles sat, glancing between the trio, wholly unaware of the trouble he'd just caused.

"Look, lets just all take a deep breath and remember how well everything worked out." Sebastian tried uneasily. "You were hardly forthcoming with me in the Blaire department, either."

"Oh.  _Oh_ , they didn't know about…you know?" And the final horse crossed the finishing line as Miles guessed the problem, having at least the good sense to look slightly guilty.

"No, Miles." Sebastian snapped back. "They  _didn't_. Again, thank you."

"Sebastian." Waylon started again, tone dipping a little past false pleasantries and straight into a warning. "If you don't come clean with us right now I am going to get Lisa."

A small flinch from Sebastian was the initial reaction to the threat as no doubt many different scenarios ran through his mind. Most of which probably had him at Lisa's mercy – or lack there of. Finally Sebastian let out a heavy sigh before dragging himself up straight again, clasping his hands in front of himself as he adopted a formal stance. Trying to appear diplomatic.

"I planned to tell you eventually. At least a few years from now, if I  _absolutely_  had to." Sebastian admitted begrudgingly, casting another glare in Miles direction.

"Hey, don't pin this one on me, Sin." Miles whipped his hands up, taking a metaphorical step away from the situation. "I might have spilled the beans but there shouldn't have been anything to spill in the first place."

"Duly noted."

Waylon didn't think he'd ever seen Sebastian so openly angry about anything in his life baring his crazed fits from the asylum. Actually as Waylon looked at Sebastian now he couldn't help but think this was true honesty. There was no sweet smile or soft words – if anything Sebastian looked more authentic than he ever had. Furious and spitting dry comments.

Riley was looking at his brother much the same. A strange mix of anger, confusion and uncertainty. They were all looking at Sebastian now and seeing something they'd never seen before – something that wasn't perfect.

"Seb." Riley muttered quietly. "You said you had a plan for paying for those bills, what did you…?"

"Do you want me to start at the beginning, the part where I stumbled across Blaire by accident, or how about we dive right on ahead to the part of the story where I had him locked up in a run down shack like an animal for months? Oh, or what about the night Miles – again  _thank you_  – found him and almost took his head off? Or immediately after when I broke his damn…!"

Sebastian's voice was rising now, becoming more furious and feverish with each word. The man was very nearly shouting at them before he caught himself and realised how quickly he'd let his control slip.

"I…curses." Sebastian muttered, slumping forward. Waylon recognized the stance, the usual one he took when something became too much for him. Pinching the bridge of his nose with his head in his hands. Had Sebastian been a religious man Waylon might have mistaken the pose as one of desperate pray. "Damn it all, I didn't want you to know."

They were shaken. More by Sebastian's outburst than the actual words he'd said. They'd never seen it before, even Waylon who had briefly crossed paths with him in the asylum had never seen something so raw from the young man. Even his own brother was left at a loss. This was his baby brother, the most innocent, kind person he'd ever met. Wouldn't hurt a fly in his right mind, never shouted or lost his temper. Hell, Riley hadn't been sure his brother even  _had_  a temper.

"Sin." Miles was the first to speak. Between the three of them he was the one with the most spine. "Just, slow down okay? From the start."

Sebastian was silent for a few passing seconds. Gathering himself and sorting through his mess of thoughts. Then slowly, almost painfully so, Sebastian sat up and looked at the other three men. All people he in some what or another had become incredibly fond of – he trusted them more than anyone else in the world and somehow even now being honest with them was a difficult task.

He didn't want them to know the worst of him. He was afraid of their scorn, of himself. But there was no going back now. Sebastian took a deep breath and felt a wave of dry amusement roll over him.

Jeremy was going to be furious with him.

"If I had to pick where it started…I guess it was back in that asylum. When we passed him on the way out and I stopped to see if I could patch him back together…"

…

…

They were taking a while.

Jeremy had spent most of the day trying to entertain himself. Daytime television was a joke he learnt and much to his dismay the house was stocked with little more than kid's movies. He didn't know what Waylon and Lisa watched – perhaps they just didn't. Jeremy had never been much of a television person but usually he was too busy to bother with that pass time.

The trio of idiots left about midday and Jeremy was stuck at a loss for what to do until the sun started to set. He'd expected them to be gone for a few hours but when the boys got home before their father a small uncertainty grew in Jeremy.

He'd been staring out the window into the street while the boys ripped out every toy they had to throw around the place. Jeremy didn't stop them and provided they didn't bother him he didn't care how much of a mess they made of the place. It wasn't his problem. So he sat by the window, drinking water and wishing it were wine.

Jeremy's mind had just started to shift, just started to provide potential reasons as to why the idiots weren't home yet when Jackie approached him asking after food.

"What do I look like to you?" Jeremy had foolishly snapped at the boy. Looking away from the window to the child that demanded food from him.

Rather than shrinking away from him like Waylon would have, Jackie looked at him without so much as blinking and answered.

"A freeloader." 

Jeremy damn near choked, coughing and sputtering as the water he'd been drinking got caught in his throat.

Jackie – the cheeky little bastard – had the gall to grin up at him. Looking quite proud of himself and damn him, Jeremy couldn't help but laugh and feel that usual little swell of pride himself. Seeing Jackie was going to turn out more like his mother than father was a relief in itself. Noel on the other hand Jeremy couldn't be sure.

No trouble, he could teach both the boys to be a more audacious than their beanstalk of a father given enough time.

"So, food?" Jackie tried again eagerly, like a dog that had just preformed a neat trick demanding treats.

"Not much of a cook, kid." Jeremy replied once he was sure he wasn't going to cough anymore. "What do you usually do when your parents aren't home?"

"They are always home, at least dad is." Jeremy frowned a bit before Jackie continued. "I thought they left  _you_  in charge."

This did nothing to ease Jeremy's concerns. He glanced briefly out the window again wondering what had happened to the Sinclair brothers and Waylon. For a few seconds a troubling thought took up residency in his mind. He remembered Walrider and the feeling of its claws digging into his body, the memory of those same claws burying in Sebastian's arm also crossed his mind.

But Jackie was still standing there looking at him expectantly so Jeremy quickly pushed the thought from his head. Even if the idiots had gone and gotten themselves killed – Lisa would be home eventually and so the boys wouldn't be left alone. Refusing to consider his thoughts as any sort of genuine concern for the idiots, Jeremy instead turned his attention to getting those of them that were home some sort of dinner.

"Alright, fine." He mumbled getting up from his seat and traveling into the kitchen. He was not ambitious enough to believe he could cook up anything good for the kids. Instead he immediately went for the phone. "Pizza alright with the pair of you little monsters?"

Jackie positively flipped. A wild excitement coming into his eyes as he trailed eagerly after Jeremy.

"We can have pizza?" He breathed in disbelief. Jeremy tossed him a curious look before boy continued. "We're never allowed to have pizza on a school night!"

"Aren't you now?" Jeremy mused, thinking of spiting Waylon even as the threat of Lisa's displeasure made him pause in his actions. But only for a split second before he was pulling out the phone book. "Well your idiot father should have been here to feed you, shouldn't he? Pizza it is."

Jackie was almost bouncing off the walls by the time Jeremy had finished placing the order. Even Noel had left his lego blocks to see what the fuss was and in turn ended up becoming excited for the fast food dinner just like his brother.

It was only after Jeremy had gotten the pizza to the pair, tossing money at the delivery boy without really checking how much he had to pay. Lisa left him with enough money in case of an emergency and letting her children go unfed would no doubt fall under that area. That thoughts of the three missing men returned. It only briefly occurred to Jeremy that he was basically undermining Waylon as a father and buying the boy's affection with pizza. The thought was so satisfying that Jeremy made the offhanded promise to buy the boys pizza again.

Imagining the distress on Waylon's face at having to compete for the boy's attention was more than enough to keep Jeremy happy for most of the evening.

However as the evening stretched on into night, the uncertainty returned. Jeremy found himself glancing at the clock and windows more frequently, expecting to see headlights at any moment. He knew Lisa was working late and the thought that Waylon would let time slip away from him so much that he was out before putting Jackie and Noel to bed did make him uncomfortable.

"Alright you two, you know the drill." Jeremy announced once the clock hit nine. "Get your butts up to bed."

"Aw." Jackie whined while Noel began to clear way his toys. The child was more reasonable than most adults the Jeremy knew. It was freaky, unnatural but Jeremy wasn't complaining if it meant he'd get no trouble from the kid. "I thought you were the cool uncle."

Jeremy was at a loss. Uncle? That was a little bit out of the blue for him and although his higher reasoning realised Jackie was trying to soften him up – he'd be damned if it wasn't working just a little.

"Nice try, kiddo. Bed. Pronto." Jackie huffed indignantly but did begin to shuffle himself upstairs, only for Jeremy to call after him. "And for future reference, I  _am_  cool."

He couldn't say how smug it made him when Jackie reluctantly agreed. Leaving Jeremy with the misguided sense that he would have made a much better father than Waylon.

A further hour passed and still no sign of the idiots.

Jeremy had given up waiting and in his frustration decided sleep was the only way to properly stop himself from wondering where they were. He checked in on Jackie and Noel twice more before deeming it safe to sleep himself knowing the boys were curled up safely in their own beds. They couldn't get into too much trouble sleeping now could they?

He on the other hand didn't have quite as much luck in the sleeping department. Even as he dropped himself onto the borrowed bed of the spare room, Jeremy was under no illusions as to exactly what type of sleep he was going to have. Riddled with nightmares and restless fits. He knew that Waylon was much the same and he hatred the techie for the simple fact that most of his nightmares were dealt with by a loving wife and had decreased in frequency considerably over time. Jeremy on the other hand was just as well off as he'd been his first night away from the asylum.

Still he needed sleep and hard as it might be to get a full night of it – he still tried.

He might as well not have for all the good it did him. The nightmares began no sooner than Jeremy closed his eyes and as always he was exactly where he'd expected to be. Not that it helped, not that it in anyway diminished the fear that crept into his mind the very moment the dream took shape.

The asylum was exactly as he remembered it, no need for his memory to embellish the amount of blood and abandoned body parts strewn about the halls. The exact room he was in hadn't changed either, neither had the seat he was strapped into.

Sinclair's therapy chair.

Jeremy, as always, tried to jerk free of his restraints. The leather straps used to hold down more unruly patients didn't budge despite his desperate pulling. By his side Jeremy saw a table full of tools, some he distinctly remembered being used on him in other renditions of this nightmare, others still alien to him in their use.

Not that they'd be used for their intended purpose most likely.

He was still lost in his futile struggles when the door to the little 'therapy' room jiggled, catching Jeremy's attention. In an instant it flew open and Jeremy's struggles stopped dead – in the past sometimes he'd been able to get free and hide before the door was open. Not that it did him any good when his personal monster started hunting for him.

Hide and seek he'd called it. Sometimes it would leave the monster in a good mood and the game would serve as a momentary distraction from the pain to come – other times it was an undesired nuisance and the monster had Jeremy screaming apologies for wasting his time. For daring to try and hide from him.

Today was neither of those days, Jeremy hadn't so much as got one finger free from his restraints when the door flew open and the familiar monster appeared in the darkness.

"Oh, Mr. Blaire." Sinclair positively purred, approaching Jeremy's jerking body at a casual pace. "Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes."

He needn't hurry, Blaire wasn't going anywhere and with every lazy step closer the man's terror only mounted. Best to take his time and see how far that fear could go.

"Stop." The bound man tried to speak, tried to somehow ask for it to be over before it had even begun.

This was too much. He couldn't escape in sleep anymore than he could in the waking world. He knew this was just a nightmare, just another dream, but no matter how he tried to reason with himself. To pull himself out of the dream, he was still stuck here until it was over. Lingering between reality and fiction, memories tying the two together to make it impossible to fully rouse himself.

There he sat, strapped down and struggling as a vision of Sinclair's former self approached, looking every bit a nightmare. It wasn't over; it wasn't going to end just because he'd had enough.

The man's hands were deceptively gentle as they lay down against Jeremy's skin. Sticky with barely dried blood as they pressed into Jeremy's cheek. The smile on his face reached his eyes in a way they shouldn't have, sending shivers down Jeremy's spine as he stared up at Sinclair's mismatched gaze.

Sparks of excitement like lightening jumped behind his eyes, the man was thrumming with energy. It was as though every second was an excruciating wait, but he dragged it out all the same. Savoring every moment even if it was torture.

Simply because he knew, he  _knew_  it was worse for his victim.

"Say it again." Sinclair whispered to him, voice hushed as if they were sharing a secret. "Ask me again."

" _Please_." Jeremy stressed the word, grinding it out regardless of how his stomach churned with disgust.

He knew it would do no good even before the grin stretched across Sinclair's lips. Even before the scissors came out, glinting under the precious little light they had. Even before the first stab of pain shot through him as the blades vanished beneath the skin of his arm, sinking into the vulnerable flesh with little resistance.

But still he'd said it.

He said it now even though he'd never said it back when it mattered.

"How many times did I use that word, Mr. Blaire?" Sinclair spat, vicious glee crossing his face as the scissors ripped out of the wound only to slam back in, only just missing the hole they'd just created to make another in Jeremy's arm. "Well? Did you count while you were listening to me scream my throat raw?" The scissors came out again, a sickening squelch to accompany the burst of blood and bits of skin that came out with the blades the second time around.

Then they were back inside of him, tearing out his nerves and muscle with each backward swing. Digging around in the holes the scissors made, messing up his insides until his arm began to resemble the handiwork of the Walrider more than it did Sinclair. Another factual error his mind happily supplied.

"Did you count?" Sinclair snarled, demanding an answer as he heaved out a chunk of Jeremy's arm. Drawing a scream of " _No_!" out of the man at the same time. "You didn't? Why not? Would have made a fine drinking game for you." Sinclair asked with a laugh as the scissors slid easily back into the crater of gore he'd carved into Jeremy's arm, touching on bone that Jeremy refused to look at.

He was overcome with the need to be sick. Pain and disgust swimming around in his head as his stomach clenched violently, wanting to empty itself despite having nothing to throw up. Jeremy knew he couldn't be sick, it just wouldn't happen – all the terrible things that had to happen could only be done if Sinclair said it ought to.

He hated mess. Jeremy remembered that. He hated mess. That's why he cleaned that little shit hole so much, why he attacked mold like it had personally wronged him. He knew that, he  _remembered_ -

The hand against his cheek hadn't hardened even as the scissors went in and tore a scream out of Jeremy's throat. It lay gentle and still against his face, almost anchoring him in that moment. Because despite the pain and fear, there it was the small touch that captured the most of his attention.

"Mr. Blaire." He murmured, scissors giving a slight twitch as he did, pulling a noise of pain from Blaire. "Don't leave me now. Still with me? Looks like you are."

Sinclair's smirk softened a touch, almost looking like an expression from after the nightmare and Jeremy's back snapped up straight. A violent cry of objection forming in the back of his throat, not quite reaching his tongue.

Sinclair noticed. He always did.

"Something you'd like to say to me?" He asked, fingers tracing delicately over Jeremy's cheek. Only then did Jeremy realize he had stubble. That wasn't right, he never let himself go unshaven while working at Murkoff. It was a mistake in his memory, another of many small errors in his dreams.

It wasn't right. He shouldn't be unkempt, the first and only time he'd ever allowed himself to grow stubble was during his stay with-

"No." The world slipped free without permission – wretched and pleading.

Sinclair's smile was all teeth as he leant in close to Jeremy's face. The hand that had held the scissors left them abandoned in Jeremy's arm to instead chase their way up the skin of his arm and meet the others at his face.

"No?" He repeated the word smoothly. "Mr. Blaire, you really must be more honest with me. Isn't it better if you just…"

The words trailed off as Sinclair's fingers came to wrap around Jeremy's throat. For a second Jeremy's breath caught before the fingers clamped down tight. Because loose fingers around his throat was familiar and it was wrong.

Not here. Not while he knew he was here. It wasn't right.

But the fingers did tighten. Violently cutting off Jeremy's air and bruising his throat. Sinclair's bloodied fingers hooked into his skin, pulling tight and suffocating the man under him as he loomed overtop.

"You like it better this way?" Sinclair spat, fingers clawing at his skin still fresh blood budded under his nails. "Well, Mr. Blaire? Do you like this better? Think it'll be easier if I just kill you? You think you've been punished enough for everything you did to them? To me?"

Then abruptly the fingers were gone and Jeremy gagged on the air that was too quickly dragged back into his lungs. He coughed and hacked while Sinclair sat back and watched, eyes cold and not at all familiar to him.

 _Let it be over._  Jeremy wanted desperately for this to end. He knew it would be years before the images stopped but just for this once, let Sinclair cut his throat or rip out his eyes and end it early.

His hands were still bound and the flesh hanging off of his arm was becoming nothing more than a distant thought in the back of his mind. Mixing with all the other pains he felt to become nothing more than another to add to the list. Heaving air back into his burning lungs, Jeremy refused to raise his head hoping that maybe this time it would finally be enough.

Maybe Sinclair would grab the scissors out of his arm and slice his throat open. His wrists if it was to be a long night. Jeremy didn't care, just wanted it to be over.

But then the hands were back, gentle and smooth as they brushed across his face. Just tickling hair that had grown too long after being left uncut.

"Jeremy…"

Jerking his head up Jeremy tried to let out a cry of protest that got lost somewhere in the back of his throat when he was met with Sebastian's face. There was nothing there that was familiar to him. The vicious joy was missing, even the farce of friendliness abandoned. Sebastian was just  _looking_  at him.

"Jeremy. Are you with me?" He whispered again, gentle hands sliding down to link around Jeremy's neck as the man stilled above him.

"No!" Finally the protest tore free from Jeremy. Followed quickly by a fierce shake of his head and renewed struggling. "Don't you fucking dare!"

Sebastian hesitated, gaze lingering on Jeremy's face. His hands paused but the expression was still not right, the actions not meant for this place.

"Not here. Don't you dare bring him here. Not this." The demands that had meant to be strong broke on the final words and left hanging in the air between the pair of them.

Jeremy was shaking violently now, eyes wide as he stared up at Sebastian. Waiting for the momentary stillness to end, for some sort of relief to come. He didn't care anymore if Sinclair dragged this out, if he kept Jeremy there for what seemed like years teetering on the edge of death until he was back in the waking world screaming his lungs out as he shot upright in bed.

That was fine. He could accept that, he'd been dealing with that for long enough.

Just not  _this_.

Then gradually a smirk crawled across Sinclair's face and Jeremy almost felt relief in seeing it. He welcomed the return of a physical pain. But none came. The fingers around his neck remained lax and there was no return of a blade in his body. Just Sinclair lingering overtop of him.

"Why are you scared?" Sinclair asked him quietly, a wicked smile on his face. "You're sacred of this?"

Jeremy shuddered as Sinclair dragged fingers through his hair. Not catching or grabbing to make the moment painful, just a gentle drag that left Jeremy's body in hysterics.

"Stop." The word came out in a sob but went ignored as Sinclair lowered himself onto Jeremy's bound up body. Laying against him in a mockery of affection.

With one hand curled loosely around Jeremy's throat, the other slipped free from his hair to move down to his arm. The moment the scissors came free from his arm Jeremy felt pain as violently as he did relief.

"You really are a monster." Sinclair mused, the scissors sliding up his chest until they came to rest lazily over his chest. Over his heart. "But you're still my monster. I'm not going to let you get away from me, ever."

His arm swung back and when it came back down, Jeremy shot upright from under the sheets, screaming.

Wordlessly, feral sounds tore right out his chest. Screams and occasionally something that sounded dangerously close to sobbing. Jeremy could hear it, only just over the sound of blood rushing through his head and his heart practically pounding out of his chest. He could hear it and willed himself to stop, for something to silence the horrid sounds he was making.

But nothing made it better. None of his screaming made the lingering feeling of gentle pressure around his throat or the phantom pain in his arm vanish. Nothing washed away the ghosting sensation of fingers across his cheek.

Not even when Jeremy's fingers began to claw at his flesh, ripping and scratching in the hopes he could somehow dig the very feeling out of his body.

Beyond his shrieking, there were other sounds. The household was not empty any longer and the hushed echoes of alarmed voices filled in whatever available space was left between Jeremy's horrible screams.

The door to his borrowed room slammed open and flooded the tiny space with light. Jeremy didn't think anymore of it beyond trying to escape.

Fingers he'd been digging into his face were now used to try and hide it. Clambering up to the headboard of the bed, Jeremy's legs kicked violently at the sheets until he was free and able to curl up into a ball, trying to hide from the figures standing in the doorway.

He could still imagine he was sleeping. The scissors would return, or worse still, the expressionless face and false touches.

Muffled voices were lost over the gross sounds of his hysteria but Jeremy could just make out a panicked tone. Someone cautioning against a certain action, worrying over choices Jeremy wasn't coherent enough to comprehend. Whoever was speaking evidently went ignored as someone else approached Jeremy and the bed.

"Hey…still with me?" The someone asked him and Jeremy almost started screamed again. The echo of the dream flooding back into his head.

"Jeremy." That same person tried again and something in there was different. He tensed and then jumped in terror as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Alarmed Jeremy looked up into a worried face.

 _Sebastian_.

The man stood in the dimly lit room, looking down at Jeremy with a face he knew. His eyes were bright, they were eyes Jeremy knew. Sebastian was searching his face, no doubt taking in the horrible state he was in. His hands still held firm on Jeremy's shoulders, anchoring him in the present.

He only became aware of the tears when Sebastian's face fell noticing them at roughly the same time. A brief expression of pain crossed Sebastian's face but he didn't speak a word about it. Jeremy was still heaving, just able to breath properly. There was a very real threat of anther panic attack stealing away his air, but as it was right now he was simply left struggling to return his breathing to normal.

There was a long moment of silence between the pair of them before finally Sebastian's hands lifted off Jeremy's shoulders and he turned back towards the doorway.

Jeremy noticed the other person who had been anxious was Waylon. He didn't catch the words that briefly passed between them. Sebastian's voice was hushed and although Waylon kept passing glances back his way – he also kept his voice lowered.

Whatever they decided ended with Waylon leaving. Tossing one more anxious look over his shoulder before shutting the door, leaving the two alone again.

"Jeremy." Sebastian began, tone flat and voice held low as he approached the bed again. "You all there?

The words took a few seconds to register in Jeremy's head, a few more to make sense and then just a little longer for a response to form. This was real, this was the present – this was Sebastian looking down at him with a mix of emotions that Jeremy didn't dare decipher.

"If…" His voice shook and Jeremy cursed himself as the words broke with every attempt to speak. "I-If I'm not, are you going to hit me? I'm terrified, I assure you."

Sebastian smiled, shoulders visibly relaxing as the correct answer was given. He remembered every conversation they'd ever had. Of course he would choose now to use those words – the same comment Jeremy had made when their situation was reversed.

He ignored how horrible and scratchy Jeremy's voice was. Didn't comment on the tears that just weren't stopping or the trembling in the other man's hands. Instead he took the old throw back in stride and came to stand by the side of the bed.

"You stole half my line." He commented easily and Jeremy's mind gave a small sigh of relief at the familiar brand of banter.

Then with a sigh of his own, Sinclair's arms uncrossed and fell lax at his side. Jeremy's eyes followed the man as he came to stand silently in front of him. His body was still curled tight, arms hugging knees to his chest like a damn child but Jeremy forced himself not himself to let go, for fear he'd fall apart.

The silence stretched on as Sebastian's eyes quietly took him in. There wasn't a hint of judgment in those eyes and Jeremy felt a familiar surge of frustration at seeing Sebastian's gentle gaze. Moving on instinct, Jeremy reached out to wrap his fingers around Sinclair's throat, in hopes of somehow pulling his old control out of the natural act of hatred.

But somehow the motion got caught up somewhere along the way to grabbing Sebastian's neck and Jeremy found his arms winding around the blonde's shoulders in a decidedly not chocking fashion.

Sebastian tensed under his arms as the weight of the other man fell on him, pulling him down slightly but Jeremy only tightened his hold. A silent threat, an unsaid plea. Don't acknowledge what was so obviously happening, say nothing, and just pretend a little longer. Do this one thing for me without question and protect the fragile lie a little longer.

An unspoken,  _please_.

The blonde never really had any choice in the matter and his arms gradually circled around Jeremy's back. He didn't say anything about the way Jeremy's fingers clutched at the back of his shirt, very nearly tight enough to rip it. Just like he didn't acknowledge the slight tremor in the older man's shoulders.

It wasn't in Sinclair's nature to be silent but for those minutes that ticked on by he didn't once open his mouth. When it had been Jackie helping him through a panic attack the boy kept chatting away until Jeremy found the words to answer with. Until the adult came back to himself enough to even pick up on what was being said. But Sinclair didn't do any of that. No remarks, no comforts, no questions – most certainly no observations.

Just a constant pressure against Jeremy's back and a solid anchor to hold to until the nightmare passed. Jeremy's breathing didn't even out for a long time but the sobs and screams had died away quickly.

Sebastian didn't say a goddamn thing and in that moment Jeremy wasn't sure if he hated Sebastian for it or not.

It took roughly half an hour before either one of them stirred. The time they spent simply sitting there was both entirely too long and somehow felt as though it passed in a matter of seconds.

Now while Jeremy wasn't sure if he hated Sebastian or not for keeping silent during that time, he knew he was fucking livid when the man dared move and break that stillness.

Sebastian clocked Jeremy's foul expression and a lopsided smirk fell onto his face.

"You have a complaint?" He asked.

"Do you want them alphabetically or by order of which makes me hate you more?" In response Sebastian snorted, clearly amused by the comment. Although he didn't take Jeremy up on his offer, perhaps he understood that it was a genuine one. Jeremy was sure he had a list of Sebastian's defects rattling around somewhere in his brain.

A faint tapping at the door drew Sinclair away and Jeremy was left to compose himself more. Rubbing at his face and throat to clear away the evidence of weakness and judge how hoarse he was going to be in the morning.

By the door Sinclair was talking to Waylon. He didn't open the door too wide and Jeremy just caught Park's eyes peering in. This time he was able to catch most of the conversation and he heard Waylon actually expressing concern. The sentiment left Jeremy sputtering and at a loss for what to think.

"Seb, after today…" Waylon was saying and Jeremy watched, positively fascinated when Park took a stern tone with his friend. Jeremy didn't think he'd ever seen the likes before today. "Look, I want to believe everything is fine but you lied to me…o-okay I lied too sure but what you did…"

"Nothing changes." Sebastian told him sharply and Jeremy noticed his hand tightening on the door handle. A small thrill ran through Jeremy, chasing away any residual feelings of shame as he realised that Sebastian was actually _angry_ at Park. What a novelty. "What you told me in the car today, I've thought it over. Trust me with what comes next."

Park, the mouse of a man he was, shrank under Sebastian's obvious irritation. It must have been his first time every experiencing it. Sebastian was so tolerant, especially towards Waylon but as of right now there was no such lenience. Jeremy idly wondered what had happened that day to make a scenario like this possible. Had the honeymoon period come to an end?

Jeremy, drained from the whole ordeal let himself fall flat back on the bed. A glance at the clock and to his horror saw that he'd only actually slept for about an hour. He was exhausted. It wasn't going to be close to any hour he'd consider getting up at for at least another eight hours and Jeremy's eyes were sore from the abuse he'd put them through.

Sniveling like a common wailing runt, oh how proud his old man must have been of him right now. Had the man not been six feet under the shame of his offspring's failure might have just done the trick.

The sound of the door closing jarred Jeremy from his somewhat bitter thoughts. He'd expected the pair to be gone, to pretend the night had never happened. Imagine his surprise when Sinclair came back into view.

Standing by his bedside, arms crossed with a curious expression lingering on his face, Sinclair just looked at him again. There was a touch of humour in the stare and Jeremy felt his pride rearing up to defend him. Whatever Sinclair found amusing he clearly would not.

"What do you want now? A cookie?" Jeremy snipped, a wounded pride making him just a touch less agreeable than usual. Not that he was particularly charitable with Sinclair at the best of times.

"What I  _want_." Sinclair began, stressing the words slowly for him. "Is for you to move over."

"Excuse you?"

"Not going hard of hearing in your old age I would hope." Jeremy had no time for this, for whatever nonsense was currently going through Sinclair's head that had him thinking that there was any universe in which he'd willingly give up his bed to him.

The angry words were on the tip of Jeremy's tongue when he realised what Sinclair was doing. He was offering to stay, to help ward off further nightmares. Abruptly the anger was replaced with confusion as he searched Sinclair's face for any sign of mockery or pity. He found none.

"What are you doing?" He wondered aloud. The words slipping out almost against his will.

Sinclair's face softened a fraction into a smile. "I told you once that someone told me it was important to extend understanding. To hear both sides of a story. Today that same person asked me if this was enough."

"You took advice from  _Park_?"

"If you took a moment to listen to him instead of stabbing him you might learn a thing or two." Sinclair countered easily and Jeremy snorted.

"I sincerely doubt that."

Sinclair laughed. Quiet and just a touch disbelieving. He looked at Jeremy like he was a particularly curious creature, one he wasn't entirely sure how to handle, but not one he wanted to see mounted on a wall. Not anymore.

"He speaks about you." He added quietly. "Talks about how much of a child you are." Sinclair chose to ignore the scathing scowl Jeremy tossed him at the insult. "I think you're growing on him."

There was a pause where Jeremy should have filled the space with something sharp or callous. Instead his words remained with himself. Obviously surprised that Jeremy didn't take the chance, Sinclair glanced back at him uncertainly. Again there was that look, like he was only just starting to take notice of how peculiar Jeremy was.

He did not seem satisfied with whatever he saw looking at Jeremy.

"Truthfully it isn't enough for me." Sinclair finally admitted. "I told Waylon otherwise, let him believe it was but…"

"You're still a coward I see." Jeremy filled in and was surprised when Sinclair's quiet agreement didn't please him. Instead it bred something ugly in him. A disgusting, overpowering anger that spawned from corners of his mind he dared not venture consciously.

"I didn't give you permission to die, Sinclair." When Sinclair looked at him this time the surprise was back and Jeremy found himself glaring holes into the man.

He had no real claim to his former employee. The words had come out unbidden but now they'd been said, Jeremy refused to retract them. There was a time where Sinclair sat comfortably under his boot, a time where he could properly order the man around. At least that was what he told himself but if memory served him correctly, Sebastian had always been something of a tricky subordinate.

Thinking of it now Jeremy wondered what would have happened is Sinclair had been truly obedient. Imagined worlds where Sinclair's smile hadn't always grated on his nerves, where he obeyed Jeremy to perfection. Those thoughts were strange and Jeremy found them to actually be somewhat off-putting. After all the man standing in front of him now was a result of Jeremy's actions – actions that wouldn't have been taken without that hatred fueling him.

This version of Sinclair, as well as the man from his nightmares – they wouldn't exist without his hand pushing them to. And now Sinclair was tossing up thoughts of giving up, or leaving Jeremy to deal with this shit hole on his own?

Jeremy wasn't having any of it; he would stand to have his creation up and off itself.

"You understand me, Sinclair?" Jeremy growled firmly, sitting up on the bed finally to properly glare at the blonde. "Until I tell you to drop dead, you're not going anywhere."

He was still stuck; still in a state of shock no doubt as he worked through Jeremy's imagined sense of ownership. Sebastian was silent for a further minute before slowly his shoulders fell slack and a small, amused smirk formed on his face.

"You telling me to drop dead is hardly a rarity." He pointed out and Jeremy damn near took a swing at him for ignoring the implied meaning behind his words. He bit back the urge to snarl at the man that he knew damn well what he meant and instead remained in stony silence, staring at Sinclair until he relented.

Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, Sinclair seriously mulled over Jeremy's words before slowly looking back at the man's face. He hadn't noticed it until Park's rantings stuck in his head. How much Jeremy's face had changed in his own mind.

Gone was the man that he naively thought was simply aloof in his early days. Gone was the demon he'd conjured up in his maddened state. Left behind was this. Just this. A familiar face with the usual angry comments and fears that Sinclair shared with him. Left behind was just another human, a person.

They're only human after all

And Sinclair laughed, because he knew Jeremy hated those words almost as much as Sinclair had grown to distance himself from them. Yet here they were, throwing the words back into the mix again and again.

Sinclair remembered clearly when he still tossed up the idea of doing away with Jeremy. Those few first weeks in the little forest shack were shaky at best. But now even the simple parting of ways seemed as unlikely as murder had back then. Leaving Sinclair at a loss for what to do.

Once the bills were paid, Murkoff dealt with and Jeremy on his way – what was left? Sinclair had always just figured that once this was over, everything else would end with it. But they'd found him out easily enough. If Park had thought it important enough to question him on it wouldn't be long before Riley also started to notice and then he'd be leaving people behind that would genuinely be hurt by his actions.

But if life were to go on that would mean they'd have to part soon.

"Careful, Jeremy." Sinclair spoke with a smirk he didn't mean. "You might just get stuck with me if you say things like that."

"Who else would put up with you?"

Both men froze at the off hand remark, recognising a second too late what it implied. Neither was willing to address it, but something in Sinclair's chest tightened and speaking suddenly became a difficult task.

Jeremy faired no better, scowling at the sheets as though they had personally offended him. The silence became somewhat uncomfortable but Sinclair didn't have it in him to break it immediately. The tightness in his chest giving away to a horrible aching he couldn't name. Even after the asylum he'd never felt anything quiet as unpleasant or anxiety inducing as this and he was left at a loss for how to deal with it.

A therapist without any grasp on how to work through his own demons – how horribly ironic. Perhaps Jeremy was right, he wasn't fit to do the work he had done. A therapist too cowardly to take a good look at himself and see the faults in his personality for what they were, even in the past his naivety was his own doing. Had he just taken a moment to really look at himself and realize the pain his self indulgent ignorance caused to those around him – perhaps Riley would still have that arm. Perhaps his brother never would have dropped out of school to care for him and they never would have come to work for Murkoff in the first place. It was Sebastian that wanted it, Riley had just indulged him and he never realised it because he was too scared to look.

Maybe none of this would have happened and he would never ever have gotten to know someone like Jeremy Blaire.

"Well…" Sinclair finally spoke, gentle as if words spoken too loud would somehow cause something to break. "Put up with me for a little longer tonight. I'm afraid my brother and I are here for another sleep over and the lounge is spoken for, so you'll have to tolerate me."

There was a hesitation. Sebastian waited for rejection and then to his surprise Jeremy shifted slightly, making a vaguely dismissive gesture with his hand. It was slightly rude but not by any means a refusal. Suddenly he felt more at ease than he had all day. A well-known brand of hatred presented itself and Sinclair quickly fell back into the role.

It was a small familiarity to hide behind so that their own thoughts couldn't betray them.

"Don't call it that." Jeremy groused.

"Isn't that what it is?" Sinclair shot back, a smirk once again nestled comfortably on his face.

"Call this a 'sleepover' one more time and I  _will_  kill you in Waylon's house." The prick had the poor manners to laugh.

Abruptly the bed dipped under Sinclair's weight as he haphazardly sat himself down on the edge, leering down at Jeremy. Briefly memories of being strapped down to the bed came rushing back into his mind. This time his hands were free, legs perfectly healed – Sinclair couldn't bind him this time.

Yet somehow Jeremy was still surprised when Sinclair did not make any attempts to trap him anyway.

"Does it make you feel like a child?" Sinclair quipped with all the smug satisfaction of a cat that just ate the canary.

"It makes you  _sound_  like a child." Was his simple retort, as he sharply turned his back on Sinclair. Slamming his fist into the pillow under his head. Substituting it for Sinclair's face – a poor replacement.

At first the lack of a snippy response was a relief but as the silence began to stretch Jeremy became uneasy. Silence from Sinclair, which meant he was probably thinking about something intently. Jeremy knew if he turned back now he'd find Sinclair's mismatched eyes boring down on him and he wasn't positive he wanted to know what he'd find in that gaze.

Then slowly the bed dipped down and Jeremy's breath caught in his throat – a momentary panic as he felt Sinclair's form loom over him. No immediate terrors rushed to mind, he didn't fear the scissors or hammer – if anything Jeremy feared Sinclair's gentle hands.

"Will you really sleep?" Sinclair asked him, voice hushed without a hint of mockery to be found.

Jeremy's silence must have been answer enough because Sebastian let out a tired sigh and flopped down boneless next to him. Of course Jeremy reared up in disgust.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" He snarled, sitting up to scowl at Sebastian as he made himself comfortable in Jeremy's bed. Waylon's spare bed, Jeremy's – technicalities. Right now it was  _his_  and Sinclair was trespassing.

Sebastian cracked open one eye to look up at Jeremy' furious expression. "Do you really want me to tell you?" He asked, tone flat and serious. It was the most threatening Jeremy had ever seen him – because what he offering wasn't a knife or broken bone. It was a truth Jeremy didn't want to hear.

With a wordless growl of frustration Jeremy turned his back on Sebastian again. Something that in the past was unthinkable and grunted out something along the lines of, "Suit your god damn self."

He knew better than to let any shred of honesty pass between them. Jeremy knew an out when it was presented to him. Sebastian was offering him a way to save his dignity and still have a good night's rest.

Well perhaps not a good nights rest, considering he was going to be spending most of the sleeping hours pondering different methods to kill the man next to him.

"I hate you. I hate you  _so_  god damn much right now." The words were muffled by the pillow that Jeremy held close, fingers clawing at its edges like he might just try tearing it apart in frustration.

"I know." Came the hummed response. There wasn't a shred of concern in the mumble, instead the bastard sounded rather pleased with himself. Jeremy growled back a sound of disquiet and Sebastian's answer was to simply curl his arms tighter around Jeremy's torso.

"Sleep." He instructed simply. "You can swear at me in the morning."

He would be taking Sebastian up on that offer.


	16. The Piece of Me I Wish I Didn’t Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ew, feelings, get them off me.

"Holy mother of shit, you have the coldest hands! Get your ice block hands away from me, you fucker!"

Swear at Sinclair he most certainly did.

The sheets did absolutely nothing to protect him when Sebastian shook him by the shoulder. The gesture was gentle enough but Sinclair really did have the coldest hands Jeremy had ever felt. He wouldn't have been surprised had he found ice cubes instead of fingers when he leapt up out of the bed that morning. Instead of some unholy amalgamation of hell frozen over and walking frostbite, Jeremy ended up waking up to a slightly perturbed Sebastian and light flooding through the open window.

It hadn't been open when he went to sleep; likely Sebastian had been trying to wake him more slowly by letting light in. He was the type to dance around something that would have been better handled with a bucket of water than a gentle touch. Then again, he probably knew better than to drown Blaire first thing in the morning.

"Really now, Jeremy." Sinclair groused. Looking down at the squirming man with a disapproving frown. "I'm trying to wake you up considerately. The least you could do is not snap at me like a mad dog."

He didn't say it aloud but Jeremy could hear the unspoken 'watch your language', sentiment that Sinclair always shoved in his face.

All the more reason to keep on cursing.

Groaning Jeremy dragged himself upright. His entire body was stiff and heavy, making even the simple movement of getting up a chore. At first Jeremy was left confused as to why he was so sore, but it didn't take him long to put it together.

"What is the time?" He asked, noticing how dry his voice was now that the colourful language didn't cover it.

"It's about eleven thirty." Sinclair answered dutifully before adding. "I thought I'd let you sleep in."

That would explain it.

Jeremy hadn't had a full eight hours or more of sleep in a while. He'd done little else besides sleep while in Sinclair's 'care' but even that had been fitful and usually nothing more than a series of sporadic short naps. This was the first deep sleep he'd had in months, left unbothered by nightmares.

His body wasn't kind enough to fucking thank him for it obviously. Of course not. No, instead it had the gall to complain at him for not having been better looked after until now.

"Thanks." Jeremy didn't mean it and he didn't sound like he meant it either. Sinclair just tossed him the usual, long suffering smile. He knew better than to ask for a more heartfelt thank you unless he wanted more cursing. "And where the fuck did you get to last night?" Jeremy asked, remembering with mild irritation that he'd been in bed before Waylon and company had returned the evening prior

"Ah, yes. We ended up talking for a fair bit longer than I expected." Sinclair recounted with a bemused smile. "Miles and Riley really do get along a lot better when alcohol is involved."

"I'm surprised your fool of a brother was willing to touch another bottle after last time." As caring a brother as Sinclair was, he still had it in him to chuckle at the memory of Riley's wretched state. Likely because it was Riley's own fault and so there was very little sympathy on offer.

"Well, he went about it with a lot more…restraint, than last time. Just enough to get them to loosen up and deal with everything they were hearing that night. He needed it no doubt."

"I imagine so, seeing the guy that ripped off his arm." Jeremy muttered offhandedly as he stretched out his sore muscles.

When he winced, feeling his back ache with nothing more than his own age, Jeremy once again remembered Sinclair's mocking comments over breakfast. He was hardly old...clearly he wasn't! Sinclair was just being a brat, give him another ten years then see what his body has to say about it.

"Right, of course." Was Sinclair's halfhearted reply. The dismal tone caught Jeremy's attention; there was something he wasn't saying.

"I'd like it put on record that I _don't_ care. But what has you in such a piss poor mood this morning?"

Something like guilt crossed Sinclair's face, followed by a grimace. Blaire couldn't even take pleasure in the expression due to the sinking feeling that he was not going to like the reason behind it.

"What did you do?"

"Now, before you get upset-" Sinclair began, doing nothing to pacify Jeremy, who was very much leaning towards getting upset.

"What did you _do_?"

Sighing Sinclair reluctantly gave up his attempts to smother Jeremy's anger before it could truly thrive. He was a fool for trying but he'd had some small hope that Jeremy would be reasonable. Stupid him.

"Waylon felt the need to pry every little detail of our—"

"You didn't."

"—time living under the same roof, out of me."

"Oh my god, you did."

It was a small miracle that Jeremy did not leap out of that bed and throttle Sinclair right then and there. The only thing that stopped him was the way his own rage seemed to freeze him in place. He was positively livid and Sinclair rightfully cringed away from his stare as he attempted to burn two tiny holes through the man's face.

"I had no choice." Sinclair tried to explain away Blaire's anger. "Miles put me in a tight position, I couldn't do anything."

"Have you never, in your long miserable existence on this planet, ever considered the value of lying?" Jeremy snapped. "For once in your life could you do just one damn thing right!"

"It's really not that bad." The younger man tried to rationalize only to regret the attempt when Jeremy's scathing glare landed on him again. "It's really not."

For all his fury Jeremy couldn't find the words to properly express it. He was silent and seething as he stared at Sinclair's stupid sorry face. He had not wanted Park and the rest of his little roundup gang to know about what had gone down between himself and Sinclair. Part of Jeremy had expected Waylon to kick him out the moment he heard the story, he had absolutely expected Sebastian to get his ass hauled out of the house.

To prison perhaps?

Jeremy hadn't been sure if Waylon would take it that far. Especially for his sake. Waylon was likely to favour his friend over Jeremy – regardless of how obviously bat-shit insane Sinclair's had been. But as Sebastian stood there in the house, unimpeded by Waylon's new knowledge, and Jeremy still had rights to the spare bed – evidentially neither had been immediately evicted from the Park household.

Still Jeremy was angry with what Sinclair had shared with those other idiots. Partly because it was none of their bleeding business but mostly because they had no right to be privy to his moment of weakness.

Which was exactly what that entire ordeal had been. A moment of weakness.

To be a captive to, and simultaneously reliant, on this sorry bastard was perhaps Jeremy's greatest shame. Even when running against all the other failings in his life, including the disaster that had been the asylum.

He had not wanted them to know.

"I'm sorry." Sinclair murmured quietly, breaking Jeremy from his thoughts for a moment. "I know you didn't want…I know it wasn't my place to tell."

Briefly Jeremy felt uncomfortable. As he always did when Sinclair laid himself bare and honest for judgment. He had no desire for that, it was just no fun when Sinclair rolled over and showed his stomach.

"Oh stop your sniveling." Jeremy grumbled. "I'm already sick of looking at your face, knock it off."

After that Sinclair stopped speaking and silence fell between them. Jeremy could still feel pieces of his frustration burning away inside of him but most of his rage had been snuffed out by Sinclair's meekness. Had he argued back with Jeremy no doubt he would have been able to get a bit more bite in his words.

Damn him, he'd figured out the fastest way to kill a fight before it happened. Jeremy would have given him credit for that if it weren't so infuriating.

Once the initial anger drained away, Jeremy became curious. Cautious of their current standing now that their little bit of history was out in the open. "Now what?" He inquired and judging by the hopeless expression on Sinclair's face, the man had no more of an answer for that than Jeremy did.

Frustrated Jeremy dragged his fingers through his hair. It was getting too long again but Jeremy had about as much skill with hair cutting as he did with being a sincere, generous member of society.

Briefly he'd thought about asking one of the Park's to cut his hair – but the thought of letting idiot Waylon anywhere near his appearance in any way was a nightmare in itself. He didn't trust Lisa not to give him a bald spot on purpose and call it an accident and for as remarkable as little Jackie was – he was still just a kid.

Very, very briefly the thought of asking Sinclair to do it crossed his mind but the thought of scissors in the man's hands again made his stomach churn unpleasantly. A definite no.

Rick would have loved this. Offered him hair bands and everything – they could have been hair buddies. The thought was so disgusting that Jeremy almost smiled when it crossed his mind.

"I suppose…" Sebastian began slowly, still trying to piece together a new plan given these new developments. "For now at least, nothing changes. You stay here, I'll go back to my 'shabby rent room' with Riley."

Somehow Jeremy felt disappointed that that was all. Perhaps it was after having made up so many possible outcomes in his head that the simplicity of the real result was simply underwhelming. Disappointment never sat well with Jeremy and so stupidly his mind latched onto the first part of Sinclair's statement that first irked him.

He should have known better – Sinclair's brother was always a sore spot after all.

"Did you brother look at you differently?" Jeremy sneered, taking a small level of joy in the way Sebastian flinched and turned his gaze downwards. "His perfect little brother is actually a monster – how'd he take that?"

"Shut up, Jeremy." Sinclair muttered but Jeremy was hardly done with this line of thought.

"Was he guilty maybe? Did you tell him it was his fault? Because he didn't look after you right, because it was his lost arm that racked up the hospital bills?"

It should have been audible the moment Sinclair snapped.

It very nearly was, with the sudden way Sinclair straightened and marched over to him. Jeremy let out an undignified squawk as Sinclair took him by the back of the shirt and hauled him straight off the bed. A feat that was considerably more difficult than Sinclair remembered it being, of course the last time he'd manhandled Jeremy this much the man had been mostly just skin and bones. Now he was healthier and gained a bit of his bodyweight back, making throwing him a touch more arduous.

Still Sinclair made do.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jeremy barely got the protest out before he was slammed against the closest solid object. Mercifully it was a wall as opposed to something like a table with sharp, pointed edges to bruise himself on.

He didn't feel particularly thankful however as a familiar chill shot down his spine. Sinclair hadn't been this rough in a good long while most of his aggression came in words or none too subtle touches suggesting more broken bones. Straight up aggression seemed too brutish for the man and Jeremy had nearly forgotten that he was still quite capable of it.

"Do you want to go back to how it was before, is that it?" Sinclair snapped, unconcerned by Jeremy's insulted expression. "Is that why you _insist_ on pushing me?"

The momentary shock dulled and Jeremy was only faintly surprised when the fear dimmed along with it. The sudden movement and roughness had startled him, but once he got his bearings the fleeting panic faded entirely.

Oh yes, Sinclair was perfectly capable. Of that Jeremy had no doubt. But now he rather seriously doubted the man wanted to be. So instead of that familiar chill spreading through his body and terrifying him – Jeremy calmed and his heartbeat settled to only a mild pace.

It was strange to be completely aware of how easily Sinclair could find ways to hurt him. Be it those broken fingers he'd considered upon entering Waylon's house, or some new ways that Jeremy's nightmares had rather thoroughly covered – he'd find ways if he tried. Yes, it was very strange to know all that and to at the exact same time be completely unconcerned by it.

Because right now it was just Sebastian standing in front of him. Just a smiley idiot trying to look like a different version of himself.

He was shit at it.

"You're not going to." Jeremy informed Sinclair in a rather matter of fact way.

The conviction behind the statement surprised Sinclair; Jeremy felt it in the way his fingers twitched uncertainly around his wrists. But he didn't release Jeremy, not yet.

He would.

"What makes you so confident?" Sinclair growled, eyeing Jeremy with an amount of distrust that was laughable. Even now he was wary of Jeremy Blaire, as if he were still something to be afraid of.

Jeremy's pride refused to acknowledge that he no longer was and Sinclair's caution towards him did help soothe his injured ego.

"Unfortunately, I have the great displeasure of actually knowing you, Sinclair." He informed the man simply with a small, albeit irritatingly smug, shrug. "And given that I know you so damn well – I know when you're just talking out your ass."

"You'd bet your safety on that? On a hunch?"

"And doesn't that just eat away at you?" Jeremy smirked as he watched the realization and anger cross Sinclair's face at the exact same time. He loved being right, even about this. "You know." He continued in a far more casual tone. "You make an exceedingly poor monster, Sinclair." It was fine if Sebastian was a piss poor monster, so long as they both remembered that he was Jeremy's creation.

Gradually the fingers around Jeremy's wrists loosened and the strength in the man's shoulders ebbed away. All the while Jeremy kept talking. "Oh, don't get me wrong. You had it working for a second back there. Had me going for a moment, but you're rather lousy at this when you're sane."

"Stop talking. You're insufferable." Jeremy heard Sinclair grouse and his smirk only widened.

"Well I'll be damned – are you sulking, Sinclair?"

All Jeremy got in reply was Sinclair wrenching himself away from him. Followed by some mumbled curses that sounded far too scandalous to be slipping from Sinclair's mouth. Jeremy grinned as he caught snippets of the man ranting under his breath.

He was still sneering at Sinclair when the man whipped his head back to scowl over his shoulder in Jeremy's direction.

Feeling he was perfectly able to push his luck Jeremy leant back against the wall and added. "I wonder how many different ways I can twist you before you actually snap."

The icy silence he got from Sinclair had been expected and Jeremy amused himself with the man's quiet seething at first. What he hadn't expected was Sinclair's retort. Although in hindsight he really ought to have seen something like this coming. 

"I honestly can't figure out if you do these ridiculous things because you hate me or because you think you own me." He said wearily, exhausted with Blaire, he was running on fumes at this point.

"I don't see why I can't think both."

"Yes you do."

Jeremy didn't have an immediate answer for that.

The moment of silence stretched beyond the point where Jeremy could call whatever he said next a snappy rejoinder and he cursed Sinclair for throwing him. Rather than run the risk of his reply being perceived as overthought or weak, Jeremy remained silent. His turn to give the other man an icy silence.

Sebastian's expression fell into a hopeless sort of smile and all the tenseness in his body evaporated as he finally turned back to fully face Jeremy.

"You impossible man." Sighing Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck and Jeremy noticed the slight flinch of his fingers when he touched his burned flesh. It had become so normalized that Jeremy often forgot there was even anything wrong with the man. And it seemed that, much like himself, Sebastian too forgot his own disfigurement for fleeting moments at a time. Whenever he remembered however, it must have been crushing. "What on earth am I going to do with you?"

"More accurately what will you do without me? Without me you don't have an excuse for your bullshit anymore."

Sebastian's smile dimmed only slightly. "I suppose that's also true."

Then much to Jeremy's surprise Sebastian laughed. It was not the gentle little laugh he gave his brother or Waylon. It wasn't even the antagonistic chuckle he sometimes threw at Jeremy. It was just desperate and full of disbelief.

Jeremy could share that sentiment. He felt about as lost as Sinclair's laughter sounded.

"I can't believe this. I've never met anyone that knows just how to needle me like you do and now I think I'm actually stuck with you. But I have to admit…life would be rather dull without you." Sinclair acknowledged more to himself than Jeremy it seemed. "It's no surprise I thought about killing you so much in the beginning. Thinking about it now, well it seems like a rather bad idea. I wouldn't be telling you this but, well as you so _thoroughly_ proved earlier – you can see right through my acting skills."

Still wearing that wretched smile Sebastian once again glanced in Jeremy's direction. He looked at him the same way he always did when something about Jeremy's existence bothered him. A strange mixture of uncertainty, frustration and perhaps even a little fear.

"I wanted to. Believe me, I really wanted to. I'm sure you remember my fingers around your throat. I thought if I just squeezed hard enough you'd vanish and I'd never think about you ever again. But with you gone what on earth would happen to me?"

Jeremy had considered it. Damn him for wasting brain cells on the subject, but he had.

At first he'd taken some perverse glee in it. Knowing that if he died then Sinclair would have nothing to justify the uglier aspects of his person. He'd have to pretend he was still who he had been his whole life so as not to disappoint those that cared for that version of him.

No one would take this ugly side of him. No one could have it except for the man Sinclair hated most. Jeremy had enjoyed the thought of the isolation that would bring Sinclair. It almost made up for the part where he would have been dead. Almost.

"Still think I don't own you?" Jeremy mused catching the slight glare Sinclair managed to throw in his direction. It was a pitiful attempt at a stronger expression. "Sorry kid, but I have you under my thumb."

Finally.

Jeremy felt a dearly missed swell of satisfaction in his gut. Finally he had some part of Sinclair under his control again. He'd fought to get it and now it was his and they both knew it.

"You never know." Sinclair mused, that helpless expression twisting into a grim smile. "I might just kill you if you try to leave, seeing as I need you for an excuse."

"Ah." Jeremy sneered. "I almost believed you that time."

"Funny, me too."

 

…  
…

 

"The fuck is this?" Jeremy remarked when he and Sebastian came downstairs only to find Waylon sitting at the dining room table. His hands clasped firmly in front of him with an expression on his face that looked like he'd ripped it straight out of a bad romcom.

By his side Riley sat, lacking any such expression of his own. Instead the older man simply looked idly down at his mug. It took Jeremy a second or two in order to place the mood radiating off of the older Sinclair brother. He looked completely out of it. Perhaps his earlier jabs at Sebastian's expense had been a little too on the money.

Poor little Riley, his whole world must have been uprooted. Finding out his brother was nothing close to the angel he pretended to be. Jeremy did feel a small amount of joy at the thought but most of his attention remained with Waylon and whatever this poorly thought out intervention looking nonsense was.

"We need to talk." Waylon stated and Jeremy all but marched himself right out of that house.

No. Not happening.

He did not grace this earth to hear the stupid things that came out of Waylon's mouth. Especially not lines that had been worn out well over three hundred years prior. "Oh for the love of…" Jeremy began, approaching Waylon with what he hoped to be a sincerely furious expression. "Of all the inane bull-" He paused, glancing around the house, listening suspiciously for any sign of the boys.

"School." Sebastian supplied promptly. Nodding without giving Sebastian or the comment much thought Jeremy went on.

"—shit, you want to pull, this is by far the stupidest of it."

Waylon dropped that stern expression, looking every bit as lost and confused as he usually did. How hard had he worked to force the muscles of his face to sit in an expression other than his usual wide eyes bewildered look, Jeremy wondered.

"But…" Park tried, looking helplessly between Sebastian and Blaire. Fumbling for some footing. Clearly he had not expected the conversation to veer so quickly out of his control. "We have to talk about this!"

"We most certainly do not." Jeremy immediately shut down the possibility. He had enough pointless prattle with Sebastian around already; he wasn't adding some impromptu therapy session with Park into the mix.

"But what about everything that happened to you…? Waylon shifted uneasily. Looking almost as uncomfortable as Jeremy currently was. "Don't you want to talk about it? I mean…i-if you want to I could-?"

"Oh christ, Park. No, _no_. I'm going to stop you right there." The words couldn't exit his mouth fast enough and Jeremy felt a wave of nausea hit him at the mere thought of – oh lord have mercy – sharing feelings with Park. "There's no possible force on this earth that could convince me to entertain this ridiculous conversa- and where the fuck do you think you're going?" Jeremy stopped noticing Sebastian seemed to be making moves to leave.

Gathering his jacket and motioning for his brother to get himself ready, Sebastian didn't so much as glance at Jeremy. "Away." He answered shortly. "We've overstayed our welcome as it is."

"You can't just leave me with this garbage."

"Oh, but I am."

"Why you cheeky little shit." Sebastian seemed to be trying to ignore him for the most part but Jeremy was hardly done with him. "You're the one the intervention crap is for in the first place. _You're_ the crazy one."

Sebastian had never been the best at ignoring the garbage that came out of Blaire's mouth. "Oh, because you're a positively shining example of sanity." He countered without missing a beat. "Not to mention you're the evil one."

"Pot, bitching at the kettle."

Exasperated with Blaire's blatant butchery of another classic saying, Sebastian finally turned to glare at him. "That's not how it goes and you _clearly_ know that. How can someone your age be so immature. It's mind boggling."

Both men were wholly unaware of Waylon and Riley's confused stares following the interaction.

It never occurred to Jeremy that this exchange would seem bizarre to the pair of them. After all he and Sinclair had been swapping casual insults for months now, but to them it was no doubt a whole new look at the situation. Sebastian wasn't bothering to play nice, not even in front of the two people he genuinely cared about keeping appearances up in front of.

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted me out of your hair." Sebastian remarked while pulling his hoodie back on. Jeremy rather hated it. The damn thing was far too white and far too cheap looking. Although perhaps that suited the blonde. "Besides, you live under this roof, that makes this your problem." He announced with a careless shrug.

"And I thought you knew that _you_ are my only damn problem. You expect me to deal with all this shit when you were the one swinging the hammer?"

"Oh, please. Spare me the sob story – you did this." Sebastian snapped back, pointing to his own burn marks.

"It's hardly my fault that you got your idiot self got thrown into the engine program."

"That was entirely your fault!"

Jeremy didn't bother to curb the smirk that curled on his lips after a moment of consideration. "Okay, I can take credit for that. Can't say I'm sorry about it, looks like an improvement actually."

" _Ahem_."

Both parties broke out of their increasingly juvenile argument when Waylon cut across them. Despite the interruption, Waylon only looked more baffled with the entire situation. Glancing between the pair as if waiting for the final shoe to drop. For the one thing that would make this suddenly make some semblance of sense of the situation.

"Right." Sebastian straightened up, realising he'd let himself get caught up in their little spat. "We're leaving. Riley."

As Riley stood on his brother's call, Jeremy noticed he was going to great lengths not to look in his direction. Had he not been so thoroughly convinced that Riley would have struck him if provoked, Jeremy might have asked what it was this time that had him so offended with the mere sight of him.

"Sebastian I…" Waylon began to speak, sounding guilty. But he immediately stopped when Sebastian tossed him an icy thin smile that even had Jeremy feeling a little uneasy.

It wasn't warm in the slightest and while Jeremy had plenty of experience being on Sebastian's less fuzzy side, seeing it out in the open was a new discomfort. "It's perfectly alright Waylon. Give us a call when you have any more information. Until then."

With that he strode right out of the room. Riley trailing quietly after him. The one armed man paused in the doorway and nodded a small goodbye to Waylon before leaving as well without so much as a word.

The exchange had been tense at best.

Neither he nor Waylon moved until the sound of the front door shutting reached them. Sitting back at the dining table Waylon rest his head against his hands. A stance that seemed very similar to Sebastian's attempts to calm himself when a situation became too difficult. Not that he got even an ounce of sympathy from Blaire for it.

"Slept through a hell of a party, did I?"

"Don't make light." Jeremy looked back at Waylon who now only seemed to be tired. He let out a heavy sigh and slumped back into his seat with the two brothers gone his energy just drained away. Now he truly wondered how much he'd missed for the tone between the trio of idiots to have turned so sour.

"Surely Sebastian's little confession didn't cause all this." Waylon said nothing and Jeremy felt his nerves beginning to get uneasy. "I'm flattered, truly, that you're ridiculous sense of self-righteousness extends even to little ol' me. But-

"My contact called this morning."

Jeremy stopped talking.

Waylon took a deep breath before attempting to continue. "They called to make sure you're still here and willing to go on record against Murkoff. They're ready to set up everything on their end."

His breath caught in his throat. Jeremy couldn't immediately explain the surge of panic that rushed through his body. It felt too sudden, too fast. It felt like things were coming to an end and despite having had nothing but time to mentally prepare himself – Jeremy was still taken aback.

"When?" Was all he asked, his voice quiet.

Waylon was kind enough not to dance around the subject. "This weekend. Sunday morning."

That soon?

"Lisa is going to stay home with the kids. Have a bag and the car packed…you know…just in case."

Just in case things went south. Just in case Murkoff somehow managed to swing things their way and the Parks ended up in some convenient 'accident' not long after.

That was the first time in all his life that Jeremy Blaire was hit with something that felt suspiciously like what people called a conscience.

It was horrible, left him feeling shaky.

The quaint little house with its walls around them now felt flimsy, and unsafe. The homely town and safe school ground all suddenly filled with hidden dangers and strangers ready to do anything for enough money.

He thought about Jackie and Noel, imagined how little Murkoff would care that they were barely old enough to understand what was going on and just how easily they'd add the children's names to the long list of unfortunate accidents they left in their wake. Jeremy thought about Jackie's beaming smile and Noel's inquisitive eyes – thought about the futures they should have.

Futures that might never happen because _he_ happened upon their family.

All of a sudden standing was too difficult on his shaky legs and Jeremy fell down into the seat at the far end of the table. Park glanced up at him; confused for the split second it took to register the pale shade of Blaire's face. For a moment he almost looked as haggard as he had the first night he snuck into Waylon's room, aiming for some grand entrance that hadn't gone as planned.

He couldn't say he entirely understood what had Jeremy so suddenly terrified, but Waylon didn't press him. Regardless of their individual reasoning, they were all scared.

"Everyone else has agreed." Waylon continued softly. "Riley and Seb both have their stories of abuse…" Jeremy knew those stories would include his name. He doubted Riley would be sparing with the thoroughness with which he abused his power. It mattered little now; his name had been dragged through the mud too much already to be salvaged.

"I guess I fall into that category as well. We'll tell our stories and show what's left of my camcorder footage. And…and Miles agreed to come out as well."

This did surprised Jeremy. He'd expected the man to stay away from the whole thing and as far as he knew, Upshur had avoided it up until this point. Smiling dryly, Waylon continued.

"It took some convincing." Waylon admitted. "Going to court with an argument including supernatural elements…well we thought it was a bad idea. But Miles has his own video and story. If he doesn't want to add in the…well the Walrider parts, he can work without them."

Honestly they didn't need to even touch on that subject. They could prove Murkoff was abusing patients, embezzling funds, messing around with experimental drugs and treatments that were clearly illegal, falsifying documents and a whole laundry list of other atrocities. Playing around with occult was only going to muddy up their case. They hardly needed it to prove that Murkoff was about as straight as a dog's hind leg.

"Then there's me." Jeremy muttered dryly. "A former big player in Murkoff…yeah, I get it. I'm the final nail in the coffin. Not a new feeling." Except if the coffin ended up being theirs instead of Murkoff's then this might just be the first time that he regretted being that nail.

He felt vile, like any second he was going to be sick. Every nerve was buzzing and he felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat. Gulping, Jeremy tried to ground himself and find the strength to speak.

If this was a conscience then Blaire wanted nothing to do with it.

"Jeremy?" Waylon said his name quietly, in such a timid voice that for a second Jeremy almost forgot they were on the same team. He hadn't heard Park sound that small in a long time. It was only the use of his first name that kept him from being thrown all the way back to when he'd been the one ripping apart Waylon's life.

All at once the absurdity of his position hit him all over again. Sitting there in Waylon's home, at the dining table with a quiet conversation passing between them. Not a hint of malice behind the words – it was a scene that had no right to exist and yet here he was. Jeremy couldn't say he was dissatisfied, but part of him still doubted how real this was. Part of him expected to wake up any moment, still bleeding out on the floor of the asylum.

If that happened, Blaire didn't know what he could do. Knowing the things he knew now, feeling the things he'd felt – there was too much he wouldn't know how to process if this all turned out to be a near death hallucination.

Cautious of his own nausea and Park's tone, Jeremy gradually looked back in the other man's direction. He was a little surprised to see there was no fear or disdain in Waylon's eyes at all.

"Thank you."

The words were like a punch in the gut and Jeremy was left grappling for some coherent thought. "What?" Was the best he could manage.

"I mean it. Thank you for…well for not being you." Waylon smiled meekly with a little laugh. "For being a spoiled, cranky little brat, instead of a demon in a suit. It means a lot to me. To us."

Something else joined his newly formed conscience.

This one a little harder to pin down. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant feeling, but it had Jeremy's chest constricting tightly. What came with this new feeling was a loss of others.

Jeremy was looking right at Waylon Park – the single most infuriating human on planet Earth, rivaled only by Sinclair – and he felt no hatred. There was no rage, no quietly smoldering seething – none of what he was used to. Instead he was left stranded without his hatred to ground him, to give him a sense of normalcy.

Why was it so difficult to look Waylon in the eyes? More importantly, what happened to the loathing Waylon had held for him for so long? Without those former constants to give Jeremy his bearings, he was at a loss. This was the first time Waylon had pulled his world out from under him in a way not too dissimilar to what Sinclair routinely did to him.

Where had the wall between them gone?

At a loss for what to do with this new overwhelming feeling and Waylon's apparent lack of hatred towards him, Jeremy clung to the only thing he had left that was in any way familiar to him.

"Well…just don't go getting all sappy on me. You hear me, Park? I want nothing to do with your feelings." The words came out rough and Jeremy found himself unable to even look in Park's direction when he said them. "I'm doing this for myself, I don't need your gratitude."

"I know." Waylon mused gently. "But you have it."

It was more than Jeremy could stand.

In an instant he was out of his seat, hand slammed down on the tabletop as his chair violently clattered to the ground behind him. "What the hell is wrong with you!" Jeremy shouted, the words ripping out of his throat before he properly realised what he was saying. "Have you forgotten who I am? All that I've done? Are you really so fucking dense that you've forgotten what I am to you people?"

"Jeremy…?" Waylon, startled by the sudden outburst, could only stare up at the man that now loomed over him spitting furious words.

"No, shut up!" He didn't want to hear that voice. Not when it spoke his name in a tone that suggested anything other than disgust or hatred. "What the hell is wrong with you idiots?" Jeremy wondered aloud, cursing them all for putting him into these unexplainable positions. Twisting him in ways he didn't know how to respond to. "Why is it that every time I think I have it all figured out, and I know where we stand, you go and pull shit like this?"

He tried again and again to rework his worldview into something that made sense around them. The wall he'd set up. The sides he'd outlined. All of it was designed to make sense of their way of viewing him. It had been so simple once. Before the riots, before the captivity. Back when it was so clearly black and white.

He hated Waylon Park. He hated Sebastian Sinclair.

And in return they hated Jeremy Blaire.

That was the way it was supposed to be. A simple clear-cut set of feelings that matched their actions. But one by one these idiots had broken simple rules he placed down. They trampled over the ideology he and Rick had set up.

They didn't even have the common courtesy to do it out of spite.

"Have you honestly forgotten the things I've done? The lives I've ruined?" He continued, voice growing louder with every word. "The fact that I didn't care that I ruined them! That I'd have done anything to get my way. I would have killed every single one of you if it meant saving my own skin. I tried to do it too! How can you sit there and talk to me like none of that means a damn thing? You're supposed to hate me!"

That was his way of living. His way of making sense of the world. If Waylon, a person who's life he'd torn to shreds, didn't hate him then none of it made sense anymore. None of it fit with the narrative he'd made for them.

If his way of living no longer made sense then everything had to be looked at again.

Every word, every action. The things he'd done with the knowledge that it had been acceptable because of mutual hatred and expectations of his own malice, they were all suddenly questionable. Thing's he'd said carelessly because it couldn't have meant anything more, abruptly had too many hidden meanings. Actions he'd carried out without guilt were now riddled with doubts.

Rick. The one person in the whole world that he'd given his time and what little friendship he could muster, had ended up driven out of his mind and dead on a filthy asylum floor.

And he'd done nothing to stop it. He'd just let it happen. Just _watched_.

Jeremy had been able to accept that because he'd had whole-heartedly believed were the situation reversed Trager would have done just the same. That was the arrangement they had. The knowledge that their friendship only went so far and one day they would have to let it go with a knife in the back. The question had only been which back it landed in and who would be holding the blade.

Rick had never begrudged him surely. Never expected Blaire to do anything that might risk his own skin, even if it meant saving him. He couldn't have, that wasn't the relationship they had and yet…

And yet…he'd talked about sentiment.

About _attachments._

"Oh christ." Jeremy whispered, a hand finding its way up to his face. He'd been around Sebastian too long, and now adopted one of his coping mechanisms in the hope it might help him weave through the torrent of unwelcome emotions.

But no matter how hand he pressed his palm against his skull, they still seemed to sting and the lump in his throat continued to gradually suffocate him. His fingers began to gouge into his skin as the full force of his own delusion hit him and what it had cost them.

"Oh _christ_." He bit out again, voice choked. "What have you idiots done to me?"

Waylon didn't answer.

Instead he slid out of his seat quietly, approaching Jeremy as though he were some poor crippled creature, and then very gently he reached out. At first Jeremy cringed away when Waylon's hands rest on his shoulders, but he did nothing else and a moment later Waylon had pulled him into a tight hug.

Before meeting these idiots, Jeremy could count the number of times someone had embraced him in earnest on his hands. On one hand actually.

He was still unfamiliar with the act, but in that moment it didn't really matter. He curled into Waylon's arms, only now able to feel that he was shaking when held against Waylon who was standing firm. He was a strong person when it came to the care of others. A notion he never would have applied to Waylon. But Park was a far stronger man than himself, simply because he was able to be when someone else was in need.

Weakness flooded through him and Jeremy had no way of combatting it this time. Murkoff would have scorned his feebleness, his old man would have turned away and Rick…well he couldn't say anymore. The best Jeremy could manage was the image of Rick jeering at him, but he must have imagined it wrong because in his mind, there wasn't a shred of malice behind Trager's teasing smirk.

"Hurts doesn't it?" Waylon murmured after a while, his hands rubbing shapeless patterns into Jeremy's back. "Feeling something besides ambition or arrogance for once."

"I don't plan to make it a habit." Jeremy croaked and Waylon merely chuckled. "And don't you dare tell another soul about it."

He didn't bother telling Jeremy that it was a little late for that, nor did he gloatingly add 'welcome to the human race'. He'd have all the time in the world to tease Jeremy's newfound sense of morality. Waylon would argue that he'd been this way for a while, but this might have been the first time Jeremy realised it himself.

For now he simply reveled in it. That old saying coming to mind.

After all, Jeremy Blaire was only human.

 

…  
…

 

Neither brother had spoken to one another since leaving Waylon's house. The silence had become so thick that Sebastian was genuinely surprised it hadn't become a physical barrier wedged between the pair of them.

He hadn't so much as risked a glance at Riley. Not sure if he was ready to see exactly what might be on his brother's face. Sebastian's imagination supplied a few helpful suggestions.

Guilt, regret, disgust, anger. Just to name a few.

Instead of looking at Riley, Sebastian occupied his mind thinking about the coming weekend. While Blaire slept the morning away, the rest of them had been talking about what came next. Sebastian wasn't looking forward to it. He would be ogled on stage while giving his story. Parts of it would endear him, others would shame him and pity would be in ready supply.

But what good did that do him? More importantly, what good would that do his patients? Their memory would be one of grief and hopelessness. They were beyond saving and their lives ended in a fire. The memory of their existence became a pitiful one, and everything Sebastian had once strived to protect them from.

There was so little he could do for them now. If he couldn't save them, then they could sure as hell destroy their abusers.

Personally Sebastian would have preferred they die under his hands. It was a primal, enraged part of him that had yet to fully settle that wanted to tear into the faces of Murkoff men. It was evidence of the piece of him that had not fully moved on from the asylum, a relic from his manic phase. Sebastian didn't want to dwell on the feeling that still festered inside of his chest, wishing it were a thing of the past, but he couldn't deny that it still did exist. Now it wildly twisted about inside of him with the weekend drawing nearer.

It would have been satisfying to act on it, however it was also an inefficient beast. To really have justice, not vengeance, they had to take this through the courts. They'd destroy them with words this time, not violence. The public on the other hand, may handle Murkoff a little more like how Sinclair might have.

Mob mentality was a frightening thing.

A weapon that Sebastian would rather not use under most circumstances. After an individual person was unmanageable enough as it was, people on mass rallying behind hatred were dangerous. Murkoff might just be the only company on the face of the planet that was truly deserving of that form of retribution.

But in order for any of this to happen, they would first have to take the stage and risk their lives again. Sebastian wasn't terribly bothered by that, the thought of Murkoff killing him now was little more than irritating. It would be insulting should they be the ones to off him after he'd survived them this far.

Others may not have been as fortunate to have his nonchalant outlook on the situation and Sebastian worried about the rest of them. His brother, his friends – Blaire. They would be in danger as well and they'd be far more than simply insulted if Murkoff murdered them.

By now Waylon must have broken the news to Blaire. It was an odd feeling, knowing that Jeremy was likely furious or scared half out of his mind, and not being there to observe it himself. It was not important. Sebastian reminded himself that he'd already sufficiently fulfilled his role. There was no need for him to keep that close of an eye on Blaire's activities anymore, and certainly not his feelings.

That job had been placed into Waylon's hands.

Despite not having been keen on letting the others know the worst of him, his honesty had lead to a few more helping hands than he'd realised he needed. For no matter how disgusted Waylon might have been with him, he cared about both himself and his brother. As such he'd offered to finish up the deal he and Blaire had made.

Sebastian was no longer naïve enough to believe Waylon offered purely out of generosity. More likely than not, it was another attempt at keeping both Sebastian and Jeremy a good distance apart. He wasn't exactly insulted by Waylon's sudden urge to play mother hen. It had always been in the man's nature but it stung a little to have Waylon, whom had grown to trust him considerably these past few months, to once again look at him with doubt.

Feeling all the progress they'd made slipping through his fingers left Sebastian rightfully frustrated. Not that he had the chance to really express that, not when he was still awaiting his brother's inevitable explosion.

The silence had become almost impossible to tolerate. Sebastian had always liked talking, Riley on the other hand was well versed in long silences, if they were to wait one another out it was clear who would cave in first.

In retrospection he'd done well to keep his silence all the way back to their 'shabby rent room', which Sebastian had adopted as the new way of referring to their temporary home. They'd never been fully settled anywhere, jumping from room to room until the job at Murkoff drew them here. Sebastian had no particular ties to any one place, although Riley might have gotten home sick once in a while. He'd lived his own childhood in one house after all.

They couldn't afford to stay there and even if they'd had the funds after their parent's passed away – the house was full of ghosts.

It was only when his brother barged through the creaky door and inside the cramped living space that Sebastian's resolve to remain silent finally cracked. He even had the good sense to close to door before opening his mouth.

"You're angry." Sebastian began a reasonably as was humanly possible.

The room around them was dark and Sebastian had to try extremely hard not to let the most recent clutter bother him. Riley was by no means an untidy person, he kept most of his life in uniform order – but there were a few blind spots in his brother's habits that left a constant niggling sense of frustration in Sebastian. They had so little space to work with already, it felt senseless to further waste it by not putting things away correctly.

He chose to ignore all this for now seeing as it was his behavior currently on trial, not his brother's slightly flawed cleaning system.

Continuing in a tone that Jeremy had more than once snapped at him for using, likening it to playing 'couch doctor', Sebastian tried to talk out the pent up aggression. "Upset that I lied to you. You're in shock and believe me I am very sorry. I didn't want you to find out the sort of person I've become, at least not so soon and certainly not like that."

"You think that's what is bothering me?" The words were harsh and Sebastian flinched, never having heard that tone directed at himself before. Riley had used it in the past towards others, but never his brother. "What I can't wrap my head around is your relationship with that man!"

Sebastian was stunned. More by his brother's forwardness than the actual words. Well at first, but then he continued to speak.

"Broken bones, sure. That I get. Kidnapping, a little creepy, but even that I can understand. I might not be familiar with my own brother anymore, I might not understand you as well as I thought I did – but damn it you're still my baby brother. I still trust you to do right by us and even if your methods were…horrible, I understand why you did it." Pacing back and forth in the small space he had to work with, Riley continued to speak, each word sharp and accompanied by another flinch from Sebastian.

"What I cannot for the life of me understand is everything else." Riley snapped, not soothed by his brother's complacency while being ranted at. "Why are you so obsessed with him? If you'd just killed him that I would understand. But what I saw back at that house, that story you told us – I don't even know what to think about that. What is it about him that has you forgetting all the shit we went through? All of it because of him I might add!" Riley shouted.

Recoiling Sebastian took a step away from his older brother as his anger seemed to all but roll off of the man's broad shoulders. And the words just kept coming. "Why him? Of all people…of all the thousands of people in the world, you picked the man that ruined our lives. You choose Jeremy-god damn- Blaire to f-"

"You're being ridiculous! He's a means to an end, that's all."

With the benefit of hindsight, Sebastian should not have been surprised when his brother planted his fist through the dry wall. The sheer force of the blow let Riley's fist buried somewhere between their room and the next. They would not be getting that security deposit back.

"Want to try that again, little brother?" Riley asked slowly. "Go ahead, lie to me again."

Shaken by the violent display, Sebastian was genuinely at a loss for words for a few seconds. He'd known his brother was more than capable of violence but never in his life had Riley been so angry at him. More than the shock, Sebastian felt worried. Riley only had one hand left and he shouldn't go breaking it through walls.

Squaring his shoulders and trying to bite back a swell of grief, Sebastian tried again to speak. This time his voice wavered and he couldn't hold onto that measured tone he'd managed earlier.

"I…I'm sorry you feel that way." His voice was too thick, choking on his own heartache. "I'm sorry I can't be the brother that I was. That you thought I was. I'm sorry I'm not right. But Blaire and I—No that's not right. Jeremy, he's-"

"Stop." Riley broke in sharply, eyes wide with disbelief. "You think I'm pissed because you're not, what? Perfect? Damn it Seb, I know that."

"But I thought…"

"I know what you thought." Riley snapped and this time there was a hint of guilt in Riley's eyes alongside all of the anger.

Perhaps he'd been unfair to his brother.

Through the months spent under Blaire's thumb and trying not to let Trager crawl under his skin, he'd built up a perceived image of Sebastian. He'd become less of a flesh and blood human and more something like an idea. The object of his affection, the goal at the end of an incredibly dark path – something that gave him a reason keep going and something in need of protection.

If Riley were being honest with himself, this unhealthy way of seeing his brother had started long before the asylum. All the way back to that first night they were left orphaned.

He'd assigned them roles and acted them out to the fullest.

Part of Riley was furious that Sebastian had broken this unspoken performance. Riley wanted to be the protector; he wanted to be the big brother that Sebastian could always rely on. But he hadn't even noticed that Sebastian had gone and become an adult while his back was turned.

An unreasonable part of him blamed Murkoff for that as well. Blamed them for forcing Sebastian to become independent, for making him more than a smiling child. But for all their atrocities, this one was not to be laid on them. Because Riley knew he'd been holding Sebastian back on purpose. Forcing his brother to remain sheltered and naïve to the world – just to give him something to protect. To give Riley some purpose.

He'd called it love, convinced himself he was doing everything for the selfless purpose of looking after his brother. But with Sebastian's true colours now out in the open for them all to see, Riley couldn't deny his own ugliness.

Now he didn't know himself to what extent of his actions had truly been out of love for his brother and how much of it had been some misguided attempt to cement himself in this role. Riley couldn't be sure if all he'd done was really valiant in the slightest, or if it was all just an excuse to be needed.

"Even if this hadn't happened, what good would I be now?" He continued miserably. His knuckles were bloody from where the wall had broken his skin on impact, but Riley paid them no mind as he clutched at the stump he had now instead of an arm.

"What good am I to you like _this_?"

Riley couldn't protect anyone like this. If Sebastian didn't need him anymore then what was there left to do? He'd built his adult life on this idea that he was Sebastian's one protector. The one person that would do anything for him and always be on his side, and now Sebastian had moved beyond needing that.

"I didn't want you to outgrow me." Riley whispered, the anger bled out of his shoulders as they slumped forward, trembling still. "I know I'm being selfish but I wanted you to depend on me. I want to be…to be needed."

He'd become dependent on his brother's dependency.

"Riley…"

The elder brother startled when he was suddenly bearing all of Sebastian's weight. Instinctively he whipped both arms up to catch his younger brother only to have the one remaining come up to curl around Sebastian's shoulders. Stunned and taken off balance by the sudden embrace, Riley lost his foot and both brothers went crashing to the ground.

His shoulder struck the edge of the coffee table and while Riley registered the dull pain with a small wince, he was more alarmed by the mess the magazines falling to the ground made. Half expecting Sebastian's attention to whip over to the mess they'd made, Riley was surprised when he looked down and found his brother curling into his chest, crying.

There was nothing flashy about the way Sebastian cried. He'd always been something of an ugly crier. His face would break out in these silly red blotches and he always ended up looking like a half drowned cat at the end of it. Although with half of his face lost to the scarring, there was little room for those red blotches left. There was no wailing or heaving sobs, just a quiet trickle of tears and a violent reoccurring shudder.

Sebastian's reaction had knocked Riley out of his own state of mind for a few seconds, enough for him to feel regret creeping up his spine for the things he'd said.

"I'm sorry."

Riley stilled.

"I'm so sorry I let you live this way."

His brother's tears were beginning to seep through his shirt, and if Riley's memory served correctly he was going to have a snot nose after this that would no doubt end up being rubbed on his shirt as well. He was willing to sacrifice the shirt.

Without wanting to jostle or startle his brother, Riley pulled himself upright as best he could while keeping one arm securely around Sebastian's shoulders. He could feel them shaking harder with every new set of tears and knew he'd be crying for a while.

Sebastian hadn't cried into his shirt like this since he was a child.

Riley wasn't even focusing on the near incoherent words tumbling out of Sebastian's mouth. "I won't leave you. I swear I'm not going to abandon you. This is enough I swear. I swear I won't go." Sebastian whispered feverishly, but Riley began to shush him gently.

He believed Sebastian.

"I'm sorry too."

It took a couple of attempts and even once his brother calmed down enough to breath properly again, he still continued to murmur quiet apologies and promises not to leave. The meaning was not lost of Riley and the flood of relief he felt was unparalleled.

There'd be time for proper apologies later. There'd be time to mend the wounds they'd both just torn open. But for now Riley thought it was enough to just sit there with his brother, both alive and both safe.

Selfishness aside, insecurity aside, they were still family – and they were a familiar of idiots.

"And I love you."

And so they'd be idiots together.


	17. Adopted Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On account of Malice being a stupid fucking sap, late with this chapter and writing too much again – the final chapter has been broken into 2 parts.  
> Have some more god damn feelings before the end.
> 
> (Also there may be either a few after stories and some other trash with these characters. Maybe. Not sure yet, some of it might already be written. Unsure if it should be posted. We'll see. If it is posted then it'll probably be out before the last chapter.)

"You're fidgeting." Sebastian said firmly. "Stop, you're going to mess up your suit."

"Were you always this bossy?" Riley asked dryly, hands dropping defeated at his side as his little brother fussed over his tie and sleeves. One of which had been pinned up neatly to his shoulder. It was partly because Sebastian thought the empty sleeve dangling around was untidy and partly because it drew attention to his missing arm. Normally not something he'd enjoy or allow – but today was all about getting that pity vote.

"Hm. No." Sebastian allowed with a faint smirk, as he did up his brother's tie. It was a mess but that was to be expected when he insisted on doing it one handed. "But you were always atrocious with suits."

"We've never exactly been black tie material here, Seb…"

"Maybe not, but you scrub up alright." Riley's stare was scathing and Sebastian chuckled at his brother's indignation. "It was fortunate that Lisa still had her father's suits. Otherwise you'd be trying to squeeze into one of Waylon's and… well it might do some damage to Waylon's pride seeing how tight it would be on you." Sebastian's grin was positively mirthful as his brother's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. If it was the compliment or the simple fact that he hadn't thought of it like that until his brother mentioned it, Sebastian couldn't say. Either way it made him smile. "Only a few months out of a coma and you still managed to have better abs than Waylon or I could ever hope to have."

His brother's efforts to get back to his previous level of fitness had bothered Sebastian at first, during those first few days living together, away from the hospital. Watching him stumble through old exercises he couldn't manage without both arms. It had only pushed Riley to try harder and no amount of fretting from Sebastian seemed to deter him. However, it ended up being a good distraction.

With the tie fixed and released, Sebastian stepped back from his brother to idly fidget with his own cuffs. Riley might not have been comfortable in this suit, but Sebastian had his own version of nervousness. Constantly righting imagined wrongs in his clothing.

Catching his brother's eye, Sebastian took notice of his own busy hands and smiled sheepishly. "Well. Maybe we're both a little tense." Sebastian conceded. "It'll be alright."

His assurance didn't feel as comforting as it should have. Knowing that today was the last hurdle in a sense. If they got this right then it was over for the most part, if they got it wrong it was a dead end. They were right to be uneasy.

"What will you say?" Sebastian asked quietly. "When you go up there, what are you going to tell them? Are you going to tell them everything?"

"Going to ask me not to drag Blaire through the mud?" Riley bit back only to regret the words immediately after having said them. They came out too viciously to be directed at his only family. "Sorry, I just- I didn't mean it like that."

Sebastian did not snap back, instead his voice remained steady and void of any irritation. "I'm not asking about Blaire." He clarified calmly. "Blaire wears his sins on his sleeve, I don't think it matters much what you say about him at this point. Me on the other hand…"

"The only part of you that factors into my story, is that I tried to save your crazy ass in there and that you dragged my bleeding ass out." Riley promised firmly. "That's all."

Unfortunately Sebastian knew his name would appear in other stories. "The same can't be said for Waylon or Jeremy." Miles was lucky in that regard, all his atrocities would be assigned to someone else or cut out entirely. They were almost all done under the influence of Walrider and they wanted no part of that story in the courtroom that day. They would be lying under oath and while it was a necessity they had all agreed on – it did leave a few of their group uneasy.

Miles was nothing if not a storyteller himself, and he had woven quite the tale for the conclusion to his own misadventure. One that excluded the bullets riddling his body and becoming a monster's host. He'd also sat down to walk Riley through his own lie, to come up with an effective explanation for his missing limb. Thankfully a lot of this story came down to memory loss and talking about the moment. The feeling of the arm being forcibly separated and the stench of blood, the  _sound_ of it all. Those memories did not have to be rehearsed to send chills down the listener's spine.

Riley was never the best liar, especially when so many eyes were on him. Sebastian had watched as Miles painstakingly walked Riley through the lie word by word and then had him repeat it back to him. This went on countless times until Miles was satisfied he could deliver it to a jury.

As expected of a journalist.

However…

"Mr. Upshur, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times; Get your shoes off the lounge." Sebastian called over his shoulder, an icy smile twitching on his lips as he tried desperately not to imagine in great detail the amount of grime that would be coming off of Miles' boots.

It was  _not_  expected of a guest to have such awful manners.

"Oh, right, my bad." Miles hastily amended his mistake but even as he thumped his feet back onto the ground, it did little to soothe Sebastian's ruffled nerves.

Stiffly, he turned to stare at their houseguest. His own suit was a mess but it also belonged to him, unlike their borrowed clothes. Miles offered up an apologetic smile but to Sebastian he looked as though he was liable to accidentally forget this rule for a fourth time that day.

Miles become something of a permanent fixture in their room. Sebastian hadn't planned it that way when he first asked the man to come over, much to Riley's discomfort. He'd only wanted to make sure that they were all still on the same page, difficult to do so when Waylon had effectively cut him off. Any information that came from the Park family came directly through Miles or to Riley.

Sebastian was still in the time out corner. To put it mildly.

Thankfully, despite Riley's occasional fit of panic when Miles wouldn't announce his movements and Sebastian's constant frustration with Mile's lack of cleanliness, the man had settled into their room rather nicely. It was not unlike adopting a lazy, barely housetrained dog into their home.

His brother and Miles had managed to knock up a tense sort of comradery and Sebastian found that with a little bit of drinking their relationship was surprisingly amicable.

That wasn't to say there weren't a few other lingering problems.

"You're leaking again." Sebastian pointed out, only this time his anger was trumped by concern.

Miles tended to slip up on occasion and the Walrider would just begin to…  _ooze_  out of him. Sometimes in the form of his shadow distorting out of its human shape, and other times black gas would begin to swirl around his wrists or ankles. Most of these tells could be reigned back in once Miles realised it was happening. But occasionally it was messier, like the black goo that was currently dripping out from under his fingernails.

Swearing, Miles leapt up from the lounge and rushed over to their tiny sink, allowing the gunk to dribble out at its own pace while he checked his eyes. His nails and eyes were usually the first to stark leaking. Thankfully he'd caught it early enough that his face was clear.

"Damn it, not today…" Miles cursed under his breath, trying to squeeze his nail down until the sludge was completely drained out. " _Not today_."

The brothers watched with equal parts pity and disgust. One more so than the other.

Miles may have been a little more carefree in his approach to the day ahead but he was in no way immune to stress. He may even have felt it more strongly than the rest of them. This was his first time in the public eye, properly, since being infested with the Walrider. It was only natural that his anxiety gave the creature an opening to manifest itself.

The Walrider was no longer considered a purely malicious entity in their minds. Indifferent and self-serving definitely, but it meant its host no harm and seemed to have a soft spot for a few others. However that did not make it any less restless, no creature liked to be confined and Miles was working  _very_  hard to contain it.

Sparing a glance at his brother, who had retreated to the other side of the room, face scrunched up with trepidation, Sebastian went to Mile's side, bringing with him yet another box of tissues. Miles went through them more quickly than they could be bought.

When offered the box, Miles gave Sebastian a downright depressed look. "Thanks, Sin." He mumbled taking the tissues to try and mop up the goo around his fingers. It was mostly for his peace of mind as all traces of Walrider faded given enough time, but no one could fault Miles for not wanting the stuff on him while it did linger. "God, how am I going to get up there today? What if I start…  _drooling_  all over the witness stand? I don't have a good story to explain away mystical ghost goo."

There was a reason Miles was going first. If something went wrong with his time on the stand then they would all have to adjust their stories and approaches to the situation. No one wanted that to happen but they had to accept it was a possibility. Sebastian had no doubt he could do it. Similarly, he had faith that Blaire could talk his way around nearly any inconvenience. But for Riley and Waylon? Well, they'd have to buy as much time as possible to let the two prepare their new stories.

"I promise I'm not going to dribble on you." Miles added, voice rising to reach Riley who was still keeping his distance.

"If it's all the same to you, Miles. I'm going to stay here."

To his credit, Miles only chuckled at Riley's response. They'd settled into an apprehensive friendship and while the Walrider was stupidly fond of the surviving people from the asylum, Jeremy excluded from that line up, the feeling was not shared by Riley.

More than once they'd woken up to Riley's panicked shouts in the middle of the night as the Walrider slipped out of Mile's control during sleep. It usually decided the best use of its time would be to curl itself around Riley like a particularly affection starved cat. And every time Walrider decided it had enough of remaining dormant and came out to say hello, that relationship he and Riley managed to establish had to be built back from the ground up all over again. They usually started with a shared beer and went from there.

Taking stock of Miles' condition and the amount of time they had left before they were expected to be at the courthouse, Sebastian decided to take a slightly unorthodox method. "Let it out." He advised, much to both his brother and Miles' horror. Undeterred by their matching expressions of disbelief, Sebastian crossed the room back to the lounge and continued. "Walrider is a naturally restless creature. Keep it bottled up for too long at a time and it'll rip itself out of you. You want it to behave today while you talk to a mass of people? You let it have some room to breathe before hand."

"I'm sorry, when did you become a Walrider wrangler?" Miles quipped bitterly and despite the obvious rhetorical nature of the question, Sebastian hesitated on an answer.

His fingers twitched, forming into a tight fist for a fleeting second and Sebastian remained decidedly silent. It was one of those rare moments where Sebastian was genuinely at a loss for what to say, given he was so incredibly fond of flinging words at people. Miles didn't seem to notice the small mistake but Riley most certainly did. Sebastian could feel his brother's eyes lingering on him, no doubt becoming distrustful when Sebastian turned eerie quiet.

Understandable considering all that had transpired between them as of late.

"It just seems… logical." Sebastian ventured. "Don't you think?"

Miles grunted, not sold on the idea but still not at all suspicious. The man might have had a reporter's dedication and stubbornness but Sebastian wasn't sure he had it in him to read people. Of course Riley was still unconvinced but Sebastian didn't offer a better answer. He didn't want to explain that his theory came down to a feeling he'd had back in the asylum, before it had all gone to hell.

There was no easy way to explain the strange feeling the Warden had walked with. No way to properly and easily express the small shiver that would run down his spine even when the Warden was being perfectly pleasant. Sebastian had never been able to put his finger on it.

Well, not until he met the Walrider. Now those small sensations were disturbingly familiar to him and all of them came from Miles. Still, he didn't go into that territory, it was in no way a secret, and while the wound felt fresh even after all these months, it was also not too painful to speak of.

It simply didn't feel like it was his place to tell the secrets of dead men.

"I think I can manage." Miles said after a few moments of continued heavy breathing, as though he was trying to stop himself from being sick. Which brought an unpleasant mental image of miles vomiting black goo into Sebastian's mind. "Don't want to make things worse."

Riley shifted uneasily. Miles no doubt hadn't intended for it to be so blatantly obvious what he meant with that comment. Sebastian took a step away from the situation, he'd made his contribution of an idea and now it was up to his brother and Miles to decide from there.

"It's fine." Riley said gruffly, startling Miles. "It'd be a lot worse if that monst-- if _Walrider_ , popped out during the gathering today. A few minutes around the house can't be that bad." With a vague, 'go ahead' gesture; Riley then turned his away from Miles, trying to make himself look busy. A difficult feat when there was very little for him to distracted him with before they left for the day.

To Miles's credit he did hesitate for another thirty seconds or so. Sebastian watched from the corner of his eye as Miles thought it over, seemingly arguing internally with himself. With himself or the thing inside of him. Regardless, the result was the same. Sebastian saw the exact moment the fight was over; Mile's body slumped forward an inch, suddenly slack like a puppet with its strings cut.

He knew that Riley was watching as well, despite his attempts to appear otherwise occupied, because once Miles stopped moving, so did Riley. Unlike the limp reporter, Riley was highly strung, body a near statue. He did not appear to even be breathing.

Then slowly the shadow slipped out of its host's skin. Unlike those other times where it would rip itself from his body forcibly, the Walrider took its time now that it was not being fought against. Its body took a while to take shape and Sebastian knew he was staring. Knew that he was studying the whole thing when he should have looked away. To offer Miles some semblance of privacy. But he couldn't take his eyes off it.

This was the thing Murkoff threw hundreds of lives away for? It was hard to imagine why.

A weapon? Well that seemed likely given Murkoff's track record of shitty morals. But it didn't seem to settle into Sebastian's mind neatly. A puzzle piece that looked like it ought to fit but no matter what angle he tried to force it in, it just wouldn't click.

"Playing god." Sebastian was a little surprised when Riley spoke. Glancing over at his brother he saw that Riley was now hunched over the desk, eyes shut tight. He didn't want to see the thing pulling itself out of a person that had become a friend. "Why do clever men always want to play god?" He muttered under his breath and Sebastian thought his brother was closer with his guess than he had been.

Opting for a light tone, Sebastian replied. "It sounds like you're saying all clever men are actually idiots." He noted, tone just shy of mocking.

Riley huffed in response, a dry smile on his face. "Something like that." There was more to his thought no doubt, but Riley's words got caught in his throat as a familiar weight fell across the room.

In all honesty it was amazing how the world seemingly shifted around the Walrider, the air did not become heavier, the burden of the creature's existence did not so much as press on the natural world as it ignited it. The air crackled with the energy of its presence and Sebastian idly mused on how different the feeling could be. The Walrider in a good mood tended to bounce along with the electricity in the air. But he'd seen it kill, seen it frantic and furious as it tore through bodies. In those moments it had an entirely different effect.

It may have been his memory playing tricks on him, but Sebastian seemed to remember the world losing all of its colour in those moments. All except one of course.

It left behind the red.

Today, as it formed a familiar eerily humanoid body, the Walrider wasted little time in crossing the floor, leaving Miles to sit. Its host was usually drained from these little exercises, but it would have been worse if the Walrider had stayed inside his body, pulling his muscles and bones into obedience as it puppeteered its human. Today was a good day, one where it detached itself completely from Miles, allowing the man a moment of rest.

However, it provided no comfort for those still present in the room. Riley no longer seemed capable of speaking, let alone moving. Sebastian nearly intervened, but what could he have done? What was there that he could have said that would sway the creature in the slightest? It might not have torn through him in the past to kill Blaire, but Sebastian found the Walrider's affection – its  _obsession_  – to be a far greater motivator than its anger could ever be.

There was every chance it would rip through Sebastian just to get to the object of its affection.

Had Waylon been closer it would have gone for him first. But without Park here to act as better bait, it had homed in on Riley and the man couldn't even move.

Sebastian wasn't sure if his expression was twisted up in anxiety or concern as he watched the mass of shadows slide across the floor and coil itself around Mile's legs. He knew it wouldn't hurt Riley. That was the standing theory, anyway. Walrider apparently like to adopt particular humans to be its favorites. So far it had Waylon and Riley as its preferred humans, with the former being its absolute favourite.

But still Sebastian was regretting his decision to urge Miles to let the thing loose. He should have known better, should have thought more of his brother's wellbeing. But he'd been so focused on making sure this day did not end with them all dead, that he'd forgone his brother's comfort.

Part of him twisted unpleasantly at that thought. The thought that maybe, if only in this small way, he'd acted more like one of Murkoff's creations than Riley's brother. If the ends justify the means, rung hollow in his head.

Riley stood with his body ridged, every muscle pulled taunt as the thing slid across his body. It was not like a human's touch, too light and ghostly for that. But there was still pressure and through the material of his suit Riley could even feel the thrum of static as it glided across him. Nothing at all like a human but still too solid to be an imagined force.

Then, cautiously Riley took in a shuddering breath and for what must have been the first time – spoke to the thing. "Careful." He breathed, feeling the creature stopping. If it was surprised to hear him speak or not Riley didn't care. As long as its touch remained gentle he didn't care in the slightest what the thing thought. "The suit's borrowed." He explained, voice strained with the effort of staying level and not breaking down on the final word.

Curiosity was the only word that came to mind when the Walrider paused to look at the clothes one of its humans was wearing. If it understood the difference between suits and any other clothes was anyone's best guess. It idly picked at Riley's tie and Sebastian's need to smooth it out nearly drowned out his common sense for a moment.

"What did I just say?" Riley spoke up again, voice gentle and still tightly controlled. He talked to the creature as though it were a young child that was beginning to act out, just an edge of steel behind his words. The Walrider stopped it's tugging and glanced upwards at its human. " _Careful_."

It must have understood because the Walrider was patting the tie back into place a moment later. The work not nearly neat enough for Sebastian's liking, but passable for the time being. Then, with what must have been a colossal amount of self control on his part, Riley reached up with his remaining hand and gave the Walrider what Sebastian could only think of as a pat. "Good boy." He praised, voice raw and not at all comfortable as relief flooded through him.

The Walrider was thrilled.

Sebastian felt it in the air, felt that ever-constant feel of electricity spark for a moment and then settled into a contented hum. The creature itself wound tighter around Riley's body and nuzzled into his shoulder. Riley, still looking as though he was one wrong move from passing out, indulged the Walrider and let his hand stay against its head.

"I take it back." Sebastian glanced over to the lounge where Miles had finally stirred, smiling thinly at the brothers. He looked ragged, the effect of being separated from Walrider even for this short amount of time sapping the life right out of him. He looked like a man starved of everything they required to live for days, the dark bags under his eyes hadn't been there moments earlier. Sebastian consoled himself with the knowledge that once the Walrider returned it would repair half the damage it caused. A simple drink and slice of bread would fight off any lingering effects. "You ain't no Walrider wrangler." He croaked, gesturing idly to Sebastian before pointing in Riley's direction. "That'd be you, kid."

Riley stiffened, looking irritated with Miles but unwilling to act on his frustration with the monster still curled around him. "You slur your words less when you're drunk." Was his short retort and Miles snorted in amusement before flopping back against the lounge pillows. Boneless and exhausted. He'd likely stay there until the Walrider came back to him.

For all his wishes to be rid of the thing, he needed it now. Being riddled with bullets was not something that just went away, if the Walrider was ripped out of his body – Miles would die.

Every injury it had healed, every death it had spared him from – it all came back and his body would just cave in. At least that was what Miles had guessed would happen. Going off how terrible he felt to have any distance between himself and the beast. "Feels like the bullet holes are still there when it leaves." He'd explained once. "Just opening back up, little by little." None of them were eager to know how accurate his guess was and so the Walrider stayed.

But looking at it now, happily snuggled into Riley's tense body, the monster looked like little more than a greedy house cat. Sebastian let out a weary sigh and went to join Miles sitting around the coffee table.

"Lets…" He paused, looking for the right words. "Lets just go over our plan once more." There was no need to but it would give Walrider time to settle and the rest of them time to recover from all this.

It occurred to Sebastian that even once this was all over, the Walrider would be staying. And going off what he did know about this creature, it would not be happy if Riley, or even Sebastian for that matter, were to no longer be around. That was…problematic.

Keeping those concerns to himself, Sebastian gestured for Riley to come over. Walking with the Walrider coiled around him should have been difficult but Riley's legs passed through the Walrider's wisps of a body freely. When the creature allowed him the freedom that was. Riley was clever enough to seat himself next to Miles who looked halfway dead but immediately shifted when the Walrider came closer. Sebastian didn't think Miles even knew he'd done it, but in an attempt to get closer to the Walrider and force back down the unpleasant sensation of separation, he'd half crawled into Riley's lap.

What Sebastian couldn't bite down was the soft chuckle that came with seeing Riley's disgruntled expression. Catching his brother's eye, Riley's eyebrows knitted together tightly. "I'm a god damn climbing post." He grunted and Sebastian had to fight back more laughter. With little success.

Oh yes, his brother groused but he didn't once try to remove Miles or his pet monster. In fact Sebastian noticed that after some time had passed and Miles was clearly moving towards being unconscious, that his brother had started to run his fingers through the exhausted reporter's hair. Occasionally uttering something about the man being just as bad as Walrider.

Sebastian knew his brother was barely listening to the repeat of their story, but it hardly mattered. This was fine and Sebastian thought that they might just be able to pull through today. They'd be alright.

 

…  
…

 

"So is there a version of this fairytale that ends without me behind bars?" Blaire asked dryly as he adjusted his tie in the mirror.

He'd worn suits his whole damn life, why was this one being so difficult? It just wouldn't sit right. This would be the fourth time he'd pulled it all apart just to try again and be irritated when his eye caught an imperfection. It was driving him up the wall and what was worse was the fact that Waylon had seemingly got himself together in record time. Unbelievable. Never in his life had Waylon appeared to be competent. It wasn't until Blaire found himself with a defect that Waylon saw fit to conduct himself perfectly.

Unfrigging believable.

It did not cross Blaire's mind – as that 'not even close to a swear' did – that his language might have been adjusted to the Waylon household. The kids couldn't be picking up anymore bad words from him. Lisa's eyes spoke of murder, bloody and righteous the first time the word 'shit' came out of Jackie's smiling mouth. Blaire had retreated to his room for most of the day, fearing that Lisa would come looking for him with a knife in hand. Sometimes he still wondered if she was just waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Waylon sat watching Blaire, which did nothing for his mood, as he moved on to his fifth attempt with the tie. The younger man was slumped over his seat, looking like a child as he draped himself across the arms of the chair watching Jeremy struggling. He could hear the frown in Waylon's words. "We have a bargain for you, Jeremy." He explained again and Jeremy rolled his eyes.

Oh sure, Waylon said they'd worked out a deal for him. His testimony would by their ace in the hole and he got to walk away a free man.

As if.

His irritation at the tie turned onto Waylon in record time. "You think that's actually going to hold up?" He snapped, glaring at the man over his shoulder. "I've got a laundry list of crimes backing up here. You think there's any deal on the face of this planet that is going to get me out of jail time?"

"You're the conman with the silver tongue. Talk your way out. I didn't think there was anything you couldn't lie your way around." Waylon replied simply and for a second Jeremy was actually a little taken aback by the man's smooth retort.

Begrudgingly, Jeremy smirked. "Look at you, all grown up, ready to break the law and lie under oath." He sneered, only encouraged by Waylon's pitiful little glare. "Careful, I might actually be a little proud of you if you keep up this delinquent streak."

Then Waylon's eyes dropped to Blaire's busy hands and he threw back a barb that Jeremy knew he'd probably learnt from him at some point. "Having some trouble?" The little crap even had it in him to smile a bit as he asked.

"Not at all." Blaire snipped, turning back to the mirror, giving the tie a bit more rough handling than what was strictly necessary. Why wasn't it sitting right?

For a while Waylon just watched in silence, Jeremy could practically feel his concern from where he stood. He didn't damn well need the techie's sympathy, but he was likely to get it all the same. "It's fine." Eventually Waylon said and Jeremy could have punched him in that moment.

It was  _not_  fine.

It was crooked, it was wrong. It wasn't sitting right; his hands couldn't tie it properly. It was not in any sense of the word  _fine_.

Undeterred by Jeremy's glaring daggers at him through the mirror's reflection Waylon sighed and sat upright in his seat. "I've watched you tie that the exact same way five times already. And there was nothing wrong with the first one."

This time when Jeremy turned to Waylon, he did so with the tie ripped away from his neck and held out like a threat. "I will strangle you with this, Park." He vowed darkly and he was still unsatisfied with Waylon's new reactions to him. There was a little bit of nervousness but where that threat would have sent him running in the past, Waylon now didn't so much as take a step away.

Admittedly this new level of… trust, if he had to think of it as that, was not all horrible.

"Do you want a hand?" He offered. Blaire balked.

"I've been doing my own ties for as long as you've been butchering your shoe laces." Waylon looked a little offended by that, looking down at his shoes for any sign of the aforementioned butchery. Jeremy was happy to supply. "What adult uses double knots?"

"Lots of people do!" Waylon defended himself and Jeremy snorted.

"It looks like a child's handiwork, a damn mess. If you just tied it right in the first place you wouldn't need that double knot."

"You're changing the subject." Waylon accused and he was not wrong. Jeremy was just impressed he'd noticed this time. Usually his insult tangents did the job. With an irritated huff Jeremy looked down at his red tie bitterly.

Lisa had brought him this suit and at first Jeremy had been in love.

Oh, it was not nearly expensive enough or from any designer he liked, but it _was_ a suit. After so long wearing nothing but the clothes of common rabble, it felt like one more step to being himself again. Lisa had not only had an eye for an alright suit – keeping their limited budget in mind – but she'd also managed to make a bit of a jab at him with it.

A devil's suit, she'd said. Red and black.

While Jeremy would have been perfectly content with the usual white and black, he had to admire her commitment to a theme. With it on now Jeremy found himself rather taken with the red as well.

Part of him had wilted after a while, not sure that presenting himself in such bold colours would win him any favours given that the story he was about to tell was drenched in red. But he'd silenced that part of his mind with a simple reminder that they were in no way denying the things they'd done. If a devil's suit was what he had to wear, he'd certainly live up to it.

But then the tie decided to rally against him and suddenly Jeremy was more inclined to put it through a shredder than attempt knotting it again.

"You've been pretty highly strung." Waylon pointed out after a few more minutes passed and Jeremy rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"Now I wonder why that would be." He drawled sarcastically. "I'm sure I have no reason to be highly strung. Absolutely no reason at all."

At first he expected Waylon to fall silent, appropriately chided for his stupidity. But after a couple more seconds had dragged on by Waylon spoke again. Had it not been for how slow and cautious his words were Jeremy might have snapped at him for silence. However, his tone caught Jeremy's attention and wariness, keeping his sharp words at bay a moment longer. "I know. Today is… going to be stressful. I know that, but that's not what I meant." Waylon began and this time when Jeremy felt the man's eyes on him they were nearly as sharp as Lisa's scrutiny often felt.

"Jeremy, you've lied to plenty of people before, you're not exactly new to this kind of attention. So… what is it that really has you climbing up walls and looking for mistakes in your admittedly flawless tie skills?" Somehow that did not sound like praise at all. He could have just latched onto that slight insult and flown into another tangent given the opportunity but the distracting words never came out.

Waylon's comment had settled into Jeremy's head now and after a while his shoulders gradually turned slack, the tie he'd been clawing at now held loosely in his hands.

He _was_ acting unreasonable, wasn't he?

It wasn't the threat of the court's eyes on him either. Jeremy didn't feel judgment, he certainly didn't care for what a bunch of strangers thought of him. If anything this was the closest to his area of expertise that he'd been in months. He ought to be taking this in stride.

And yet…

"It's a new feeling." Jeremy admitted quietly, voice tight with bitterness. "Feeling something ending."

Then with a heavy sigh, Jeremy made one last attempt on his tie. His hands worked more slowly, no longer tense with anger or frantic with nerves he hadn't known he even had. Looking at himself again in the mirror Jeremy noted he looked resigned; the words he spoke came out with a similarly jaded tone. "There was no end before. Everything continued there was always a plan for what came next. Even if it was just more of the same – there was always more." Jeremy wished he could shut up. Wished he could choke the words out. Wished he could rip his throat out, hell he wished Sinclair had made good on an old threat from the asylum and torn out his lying tongue.

If only because now it was too honest for him.

"Even if I died and it ended that way, at least I knew that until I died there was something. I could think ahead, past tomorrow. But now…" He mused quietly, eyes following the red fabric of the tie as it looped down. If he focused on his hands, on his work, then the words would sting less. That was his theory anyway. "But after this…there really is nothing."

There was nothing tomorrow. Logically Jeremy knew there was. The sun would set and rise and the world would keep on spinning. But for Jeremy it felt like everything stopped after this. He tried to look into the future as he had so many times before but after the courtroom it was as though the world just… dropped away. He kept telling himself there was a tomorrow but it felt like once he stepped foot into that courtroom and gave his story – it would all just stop.

The story would be over for him.

This little house would be gone. He wouldn't see Jackie or Noel again. Lisa's dagger eyes wouldn't turn on him anymore and Park wouldn't be able to irritate him just by sharing the same living space. There'd be no more plans, schemes or mistakes. Murkoff gone, the Parks left behind. All the fear, anger and drive – it'd all just evaporate and then what? What was there after that?

His hands had stopped moving. Jeremy barely even realised it. He'd been staring at himself in the mirror, fingers still against the red fabric.

Despite looking at his own face, same one he'd had since birth, Jeremy found nothing familiar about it. There were scars that hadn't existed two years earlier. The memory of his torment stretched across his body, mostly hidden by his clothes. If he rolled his sleeve up there'd be more scars. Large gouges of flesh missing all the way up to his shoulder. If he pulled the tie and collar aside there'd be more, hideous and most importantly; _permanent_.

If he didn't have these marks, Jeremy wouldn't even recognize himself. He thought about the photo of himself and Trager that day at golf. Vaguely remembered the man in that photo standing next to Rick grinning. That man didn't exist anymore, only the echo of him existed in Jeremy today. There was a ghost of that man in his face, where the scars were fewer and lighter, and the damage less obvious.

It occurred to Jeremy that if that man could just cease to exist, then why was it so strange to think that the one standing in his place couldn't just stop as well? He'd never felt the end coming before, but now it was just around the corner and Jeremy didn't know what else to do other than walk into it.

"Jeremy." Waylon's quiet voice jarred him for a moment. Pulled him out of the headspace he'd fallen into and when he looked over at Waylon through the reflection all he could see was horror in the man's eyes. " _Jeremy_." He said again voice heavy with heartache.

Waylon was up with the word, lunging out of the chair as quickly as he could. His movements hasty to match with the desperation in his voice. Jeremy nearly jerked away from Park as the man came up to his side, fingers reaching out to grapple with his arm. As though he could somehow anchor Jeremy in that moment, to ground him again.

"Don't look at me like a charity case, Park." Jeremy growled, a reflex he hadn't even tried to grow out of. He tried to pull away but found his efforts were not nearly honest enough to break free while Waylon's determination to keep him there was. He realised only after those halfhearted attempts to get free that he was afraid. Afraid of what Park would say.

If the words he spoke were of pity Jeremy didn't know what he'd do. But if they were damnation then Jeremy knew he'd be able to walk to the end without glancing back. No matter how terrifying it was.

"You…" Waylon struggled for a moment, eyes wide and wretched in the way they looked at Jeremy. It wasn't pity but grief Jeremy was seeing. Waylon was one of those people, his empathy for others so deeply ingrained in his person that when Jeremy looked at his gaze and saw kindness he damn near drowned in it. "You can stay here!" Waylon blurted out and Jeremy froze.

Partially because his heart seemed to come to a shuddering stop hearing those words and partly because he was astounded by Park's staggering stupidity.

"No I can't." Jeremy replied, voice dead. "Don't be stupid. For once in your life, just don't be an idiot."

"You can!" Waylon bit back, voice becoming stronger now that he was fighting against Jeremy's words. He latched onto this idea and stuck with it even though he no doubt knew what he was saying was ludicrous.

"Lisa wouldn't…" Still attempting to be the voice of reason, Jeremy tried to list off the reasons this promise would be an empty one.

Waylon wasn't having it.

"Lisa won't kick you out." Waylon vowed fiercely and briefly Jeremy felt a swell of amusement, just daring Waylon to try and stop his wife from doing anything. But it was quickly smothered under Waylon's determination. "The house is big enough, and if it's really not we'll move. Somewhere far away from Mount Massive. We wouldn't want to stay here anyway." He began to speak quickly, fingers tightening on Jeremy's arm, clinging to him as he rattled off ways to justify his delusion. "It could be a big house, some place with plenty of space, a big garden. Something for the kids to play golf in with you. And…and I know that Lisa won't mind, she doesn't hate you I promise. Okay, maybe just a little. But--!"

"Waylon." Jeremy broke in, voice alarmingly soft even to his own ears. "You can't  _adopt_  me."

"Why not?" The demand came with a level of childish stubbornness that was frankly humbling. "Why can't we?"

"Because I'm Blaire." He tried to explain. Words slow and each word stressed. As though his name was explanation enough. And really it ought to have been. How many times did he have to tell them this? How many times was he required to remind Waylon and his gaggle of idiots that he was a monster? The boogeyman that should have been under the beds at night, not spending his days teaching their kids golf and social manipulation tactics.

They had just had this conversation earlier this week. He knew Waylon hadn't gotten the message but he had hoped that maybe it would remind him that once upon a time not that long ago – they would have killed each other.

"Yes, and  _Jeremy_  happens to already live with us."

Jeremy flinched when he heard Lisa's voice. He didn't know how long the woman had been there, leaning against the doorframe with a lopsided smile on his face. Obviously long enough to weigh in on the conversation. "He also happens to babysit for free."

"Poorly." Jeremy groused, studying Lisa's face uncertainly. He couldn't find any trace of refusal there. He'd expected her to be running him out of their home, not encouraging her husband's delusions.

"For free." Lisa stressed again with a small shrug. Her smile was indulgent, looking over her husband and their apparently adopted devil with no malice. "Besides, explaining why their favorite plaything suddenly went missing would be a pain. You better just stick around for a while longer." Then after a moment of thought Lisa added. "And find a job, you damn freeloader."

He was shaking.

Jeremy only knew this because he could feel his arm trembling against Waylon's hands. He was shaking so bad it was miraculous that he didn't just fall apart. For a few seconds he couldn't pin down exactly why his body was quivering, he couldn't locate any familiar feeling. He wasn't sad but he couldn't say he was happy either. Rather the two seemed to have mashed together, becoming this horrible combination of the two and Jeremy was being suffocated by it.

With no words at his disposal Jeremy covered his eyes with one hand and bit down something that could have been laughter or a sob. He'd never know. Waylon on the other hand managed a laugh by his side.

"Feeling human again are you?" He teased and the sheer amount of good natured humour behind the jab hurt more than if Park had actually stabbed him.

Distantly he heard Lisa speak again, a smile evident in her tone. "And tomorrow you're going to earn your keep and help us pack." She announced. "The sooner we're out of this town, the better."

Waylon was saying something again. Something about his own tie not looking quite as good as Jeremy's six times lucky tie. Lisa must have moved into the room to help her child of a husband with it but Jeremy wasn't really paying attention anymore.

His head kept on repeating what Lisa had said. It wasn't the thought of putting more distance between themselves and the smoldering remains of the asylum that captivated him. It wasn't even the fact that he'd apparently been roped into staying with this family. They'd badgered him into it – saving him the shame of asking.

No, what kept repeating in his head was the job he'd been assigned for the next day.

Tomorrow. Lisa had just given him a  _tomorrow_.

With a deep breath Jeremy straightened out his spine, fingers giving the tidy knot one last pat down before he was satisfied. Perhaps Waylon had been correct, it looked about the same as all the other times he'd tied it. Only now there was no urge to do it again.

When Jeremy glanced at the mirror again, he mustered up a smirk, it was nearly a match for the one that Blaire in the photo wore.

Nearly. It was just a tiny bit different, just a little warmer and Jeremy felt confident that when he stood up on stage that day – he'd use this smile to bury Murkoff. The company would be destroyed and…

Glancing at the couple through the glass, Jeremy's smile softened, something he'd never admit to out loud, and he was satisfied knowing that Murkoff would never again have any sway over them or their family. If he was the only remaining shard of Murkoff in their lives… well that was acceptable in his mind.

Now… for that final nail.


	18. That Final Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I...guess we're here now.
> 
> Please check the bottom of the chapter for some important notes.

The affair was not at all as quiet as Sebastian had hoped it would be.

There were people everywhere, all dressed up in some form or another. His own suit felt shabby in comparison. The urge to adjust his tie, mess with his cuffs, to just do  _anything_  that could be perceived as amending any imagined wrongs in his attire was nearly overwhelming.

Memories of his own instructions to Riley came back to him.  _Don't fidget._  Sebastian forced his fingers to still, arms dropped at his sides.

Miles was spitting when they arrived, arching up at the sight of the gathering. "Who the fuck squealed?" He hissed, leaning over the backseat to jab at Sebastian's shoulder roughly, as though he was the one with the answers.

Rather than giving some hazard as to why there were more people than expected, Sebastian instead glanced over his shoulder and fixed Miles with a knowing look. "Calm down." He instructed sharply and for just a second Miles looked ready to completely ignore him in favour of complaining further. But then, the unspoken meaning of the command sank in and Sebastian watched as Miles grimaced with a huff of annoyance before sinking back into his seat. Sulking, clearly, but the Walrider didn't so much as make a peep so it was counted as a victory.

Opting not to push Miles with any further scolding, Sebastian instead glanced out the window of the car again, taking another hesitant look at the gathering. This was supposed to be a mostly private affair but some part of him was relieved to see the sheer number of people around. It was a ridiculous notion – feeling security in numbers. "Well at least if I die." Miles began again bitterly. "It'll all be caught on camera."

Feeling a small swell of irritation, Sebastian once again cast Miles a sharp look. "Yes, and you'd know all about the importance of filming people's suffering, wouldn't you, Mr. Upshur?" The sharp bitterness of his words jarred Riley back into the present. His older brother having been rather wrapped up in what he could only guess was some internal pep talk.

But now he jerked slightly, staring in Sebastian's direction with a look of shock. " _Seb_." He hissed out, reproachfully, taking a quick look at Miles only to see a similar expression of surprise on the former reporters face. Sebastian had never bitten at him like that before. "It's just Miles." Riley reminded him cautiously. "Our friend, remember?"

At any other time Miles may have latched onto that, goaded Riley for openly calling them friends, but at that exact moment he couldn't rip his eyes off the blonde glaring holes into him.

The heated stare lasted a second longer before Sebastian seemingly realised how venomous he was being and deflated. "Right…right. Sorry." Muttering under his breath, Sebastian rubbed little circles into his temples as if he was trying to unravel the clutter in his head. "Quiet down. No one's fault. Just… breathe." He instructed himself and no one else said a word in the little car, instead opting to wait it out and see how Sebastian worked himself back down.

Once his breathing did even out and the tension sapped from his body, Riley reached over to place a gentle hand on his little brother's shoulder.

"So that's what it looks like." He said quietly, getting a weary questioning look from Sebastian. In turn Riley smiled grimly and clarified. "You taking your own advice."

It was a relief when Sebastian laughed. The sound wasn't quite as wholehearted as anyone would have liked but the weak smile he managed was an improvement. "Well, desperate times and all that." He said with a meek shrug. Sebastian thought himself fairly well adjusted all things considered, but when he looked out there and imagined hidden enemies in every face – imagined Murkoff in every face – it was difficult not to fall into old habits. Behaviours he'd picked up to defend himself back in a place where everyone actively hurt him.

Miles was their friend and Sebastian never blamed him for what happened at the asylum. He was just some guy who came along and tried to help – the poor soul that got his whole life swallowed up behind bloody walls and pitiless eyes.

Miles was just like them.

That thought helped to calm Sebastian considerably. The part of him that was too weak to let go, too twisted to ever properly reform, was soothed by that mentality of 'us versus them' but there were so few of 'us' left. Best not to turn on one of those few.

It discouraged Sebastian to know he had to rationalize with a completely irrational part of his mind.

Perhaps when this was all over he'd go to a doctor. A  _real_  doctor. Someone better suited to work out the kinks in his brain. Someone that did the job he'd once tried to do with far more success than himself. Although the thought of placing his mind into anyone else's care again was terrifying, Sebastian knew he was not by any stretch a healthy person. He'd have to overcome the fear instilled in him by what Murkoff had done if he was ever to truly get better.

But first…

"You ready?" Riley asked, the question directed at Miles who was the first to get up and speak that day.

Just out of the side window, Sebastian could see what prompted Riley to ask, their escort was returning. A guard, for lack of a better term. They had a few people with them the whole way but this particular escort had come to get them from the apartment, had driven them here as well. It was comforting to know they had people looking out for them now.

Miles shifted uneasily, glancing between the brothers and the outside world once or twice before letting out a hefty sigh and managing a nod. "Better be." He answered dryly. "Don't really have any time left to mentally prep."

"You'll do fine." And when Riley said those words with such certainty, they truly believed him. "It's time to go."

Sebastian was the first to uncurl from his seat and open the car door. He paused, allowed himself one small slip in control as he pat his suit jacket back down before taking the first step into the fray. Miles hesitated only a moment longer as Sebastian's form vanished out the door.

His fingers, those eight he hand left, were cautiously running over his nails and just under the line of his eye. Riley caught the action and in an effort to reassure both himself and Miles reached out to catch the man's hand. Startled, Miles stilled, looking between Riley and the hand that held his. Between them there were only thirteen fingers. "You'll do fine." Riley repeated lowly, the words meant purely for Miles. Then after a breath of silence he added. "Both of you."

Surprised once again, Miles's eyes snapped back up to Riley's face to see the trepid smile he was wearing. Talking about the beast under his flesh bothered the man still but there was not a hint of doubt in his eyes. The belief he held out for Miles extended to the monster that had once torn him apart. Something about that caused Miles to feel angry. A kind of righteous anger that burned low in his belly and sent bright sparks of heat across every nerve in his body.

Riley believed in them  _so_  much despite  _everything_.

Miles might have hated himself - or maybe it was the Walrider he hated – but without a doubt they both hated Murkoff more than anything else. And so all that anger turned onto them and suddenly Miles wasn't the least bit nervous anymore. "Let's bury these fuckers." He muttered back to Riley and was rewarded for his words with a relieved smile.

With one more solid pat on his shoulder, Riley was urging Miles out of the car. As he stepped back out into the sun and heard the buzz of conversation passing through the crowd, Miles felt all that anxious energy shift into a motivation that was nothing short of spiteful. All at once he was himself again. Not a witness, not a host – just some determined idiot with a camera in his hands, no common sense in his head and a death wish.

Turning with his hand on his hip to look out over the gathering, Miles grinned. And when the Walrider pressed against his insides, when the mechanical hum of its presence curled around his mind he did not shy away from it. They were going to dismantle these fuckers together and the Walrider seemed more than happy to oblige.

As Riley joined him he felt the man check his face for signs of hesitation again. When he found nothing but vicious conviction in its place, Riley let out a sigh that was equal parts relieved and exasperated. "No embellishing." He reminded, a laugh behind his voice.

"I'm nothing if not an honest storyteller, Riles." Miles retorted, his smile not the slightest bit forced. "Besides, I don't need to embellish a damn thing to destroy these bastards. Never needed any lies, just a word and my camera. It's in the bag." He'd been a strong believer of the 'fake it till you make it' ideology, but there was no need for posturing anymore.

Miles might have even believed him himself half as much as Riley believed in him.

Comforted by Miles's confidence, Riley was finally able to set his sights on the end goal. They were so close now. Riley caught sight of Sebastian a small distance ahead of them, some words being exchanged between himself and their escort. It almost looked like some kind of conflict. Concerned, he made a beeline for his brother only to find he was avidly explaining that everything was okay.

"It's fine, she's a friend." He was explaining quickly to the guard who – to their credit – was taking their job very seriously and keeping people well away from the three of them.

All except a young blonde girl who had seemingly managed to slip past the other barricades to get a bit closer. Slippery little thing. "Sebby!" She called, expression torn between a smile upon seeing him again and some kind of gut wrenching concern.

With Sebastian vouching for her, the guard hesitantly allowed her to move past him and the moment she was given access the young woman threw her arms around Sebastian's shoulders, dragging him down a few inches to her height. It took him a second to process the hug but once he had Sebastian readily returned it.

Then just as quickly as she's embraced him she retreated, holding Sebastian's face in her tiny, delicate hands as bright blue eyes scrutinized his face. Whatever she found must have been soothing because her fierce stare softened. "I have been so worried about you." She told him seriously. "Sebby, darling," All three of them flinched but said nothing. "don't you ever be telling me fibs like that ever again. You'll give me a heart attack, love."

"Yes, I'm sorry." Sebastian murmured, looking appropriately chided but still holding onto his warm smile. "Are you sure you want to be here, Mary? You know you don't have to-"

"Mary?"

Upon hearing Riley's voice the pair of blondes turned to look in his direction. Miles gave a cheerful little wave to Mary with a cheeky smile, but Riley seemed frozen in place, staring at the two blue eyes looking his way as though they both grown second heads. Uncertainly Riley took a half step towards them.

"You're…Mary?" He ventured.

Sebastian realised his mistake, he'd talked an awful lot about Mary to Riley that past month but he'd never met the woman in person. "Oh! Of course, I'm so sorry. I haven't introduced you. Riley, this is Mary Sisko. The woman that I've told you about."

Technically they had met before, when Mary stopped to pull the two bleeding men into her car and rush them to hospital – but Riley had been in no state to take in names or faces at the time. Shock and blood loss taking a toll on him. Even in the moments he'd been conscious he'd only been uttering about his brother and sister, stuck in some time where he had to protect them both and was in no position to do as such.

While Mary of course knew Riley, needing had to get all his blood cleaned out of her car and having visited his bedside so many times while he was comatose, this was the first time he could coherently answer her when she spoke. Mary's smile was dazzling when she looked at Riley. "It's so nice to finally see you up and about, Riley."

Where there should have been some polite response, Riley only offered silence, still staring at the pair. Eventually Sebastian became concerned. "Something wrong, Riley?"

The question jarred Riley from whatever thoughts were rushing through his mind and after a quick shake of his head; Riley managed a slight smile of his own. "No, no sorry. I just…you just looked familiar. Sorry. It's good to see you. Thank you for being here."

His expression never brightened to match Mary's smile, but there was something soft in the way he looked at her. Sebastian knew he meant it when he said it was good to see her. It meant so much to them that she was willing to speak with them today. Confirm that she had in fact ferried the dying men from the asylum.

"And  _you_  I know." Mary added, glancing over to Miles her smile becoming a touch mischievous. "Mr. tall dark and handsome over here. Now where have you been these past few months, huh? Haven't seen you with Seb or Waylon even once. My coffee shop is sorely lacking the eye candy."

"Oh, you flatterer, you." Miles crooned, looking overly pleased with himself.

At his side Riley groaned in disbelief. He might have even uttered a horrified, " _unbelievable"_ under his breath. He'd have to adapt to Mary and Miles's playful way of talking.

At first Sebastian had thought perhaps Mary fancied Miles, although it became increasingly apparent that the more they chatted how nonromantic it really was. He'd never understand why they flirted so aggressively to prove just how uninterested they really were.

But they had fun and so he left them to it.

In an effort to spare Riley from the mortification that was Miles's ego, Sebastian stepped in with a quiet chuckle. "Okay, okay, let's agree to save the banter for after today. Coffee date the moment we're done, save all the flirting for then."

"Alternatively;  _don't_." Riley groused, his words met with a happy giggle from Mary and shit-eating grin from Miles.

It was a relief to share a moment of lighthearted chatter before they stepped into the courthouse. But the guards were getting antsy and so it was time to move along. Despite this, the group moved more easily now, each one of them having gathered their nerves in one way or another.

As the guards shuffled them along, Sebastian noticed Miles was sticking like glue to Riley's side, likely as an attempt to pacify the Walrider should it become restless. If his brother noticed, Riley didn't comment on this closeness, far too busy making sure he was aware of everything else going on around them. However, when Sebastian caught sight of Mary shrinking in on herself a little bit once they passed into the threshold of the court, he made an attempt to sooth her like he hoped Riley would sooth the Walrider.

Wordlessly, he reached out to slip his unscarred hand into hers. Startled by the sudden contact, Mary glanced up at his face and to this day it never failed to amaze him that she did not balk at the sight of his scars.

Sometimes he swore she looked at him the same way Jeremy would on occasion. Like they were looking right through the scars and only saw him underneath all the tragedy and cruelties.

Mary was what he hoped all the people in their lives would be. Kind, understanding, strong and most importantly, someone who still saw the real them under all the layers of horror that had been done onto to them.

Mustering a warm smile for her, Sebastian gave her fingers a little squeeze, hoping it would come across as the comfort it was supposed to be. Once Mary's mind made sense of the contact she squeezed back, clutching his hand tightly and for a second the effect was reversed; Mary's hand a comfort to him. Perhaps he needed it just as badly.

That was how they entered the courthouse, eyes set firmly ahead of them so as not to look into the faces of those that would bare witness to their stories that day.

They were here to listen but they were not of any great consequence beyond that.

The faces lining the seats might have looked at each of them with disgust, or pity or compassion – it didn't matter so long as when they heard Murkoff's name they believed and passed judgment.

In his fingers, Mary's hand trembled a little bit and Sebastian swore that for just a moment he felt what Riley might have felt when he found Sebastian sitting bloodied and alone the asylum floor. It was a near overwhelming urge to just...shield her. "There's no shame in backing out." He told her gently, meaning every word of it. "You coming here to support us is more than enough. Don't push yourself."

"No." Mary's little whisper came back resolutely. "I want to speak. I just…" And as if she could not find the words to express how badly she wanted to help them, Mary squeezed his hand a bit harder in place of words.

Just being here was more than enough. They would have understood if she could do no more than that.

But he could not stop her from doing what she felt she had to do. So instead he simply held her hand as they were lead to what would become their waiting area.

Immediately, Sebastian spotted Waylon and Blaire.

The two of them already seated and speaking between one another in hushed voices. Even from this distance he could see Blaire's expression was pinched, irritated with something Waylon was saying. This may have been cause for concern had it not been Blaire's default reaction to Park speaking – or doing anything, really.

Once Waylon caught sight of them, he made a small gesture to Jeremy calling for silence then directing his attention to the last of their group joining them. Sebastian stiffened slightly when Waylon glanced his way, not sure he could stomach it if his friend looked at him like he was a monster again, regardless of how much he may have deserved it. Instead, all he found in Waylon's eyes was a touch of fear and a heavy tiredness. Just like the rest of them, the echo of understanding he found in Waylon's stare soothed him somewhat.

However he did not dare look at Jeremy.

As Sebastian and Mary took their places, Riley stayed standing with Miles for a moment longer. Fretting like a pedantic mother in those last moments they had before it all began. Miles took it all in stride, perhaps enjoying Riley's final attempts at reassuring him when he no longer needed it or maybe he was simply allowing Riley to fret because he knew the one armed man needed it more than Miles did.

Each of them would have their turn, but it was Miles that went first.

What had once been anxiety had become unbridled energy and where Riley had needed to encourage, he now needed to curb it somewhat. Thus, Riley reminded him of the importance of not getting too excited or flying off the hook when he began to speak. Reminded him to mind his tongue, not to swear and keep his usual quirks to a minimum.

Miles was ready. He was practically jumping out of his skin just waiting to get up there and tear Murkoff apart.

Somehow, it was wholly unsurprising when the first thing out of his mouth upon taking the stand was, "Welcome to the story that finally breaks the bastards."

The sound of Riley's palm slamming against his forehead was loud enough that surely the entire congregation heard it and shared in his exasperation.

…

…

Miles's account of what took place in the asylum was…  _colourful_ , to put it mildly.

He had absolutely no kind words for the people he encountered inside; he had even fewer for Murkoff. As expected, he was an accomplished the storyteller and while it occasionally got lost under his unprofessional approach and the anger that saturated his each and every syllable – he was telling quite the story.

He spared none of the gory particulars of his experience and seemed to take delight in retelling in  _excruciating_  detail exactly how painful it was when the court asked after his lost fingers.

He was antagonistic on the stand, dragging Murkoff in every way he could think of without outright calling them cocksuckers – having been warned more than once by the court to mind his tongue.

It was only when it came to talk of the patients that Miles relented somewhat. "They didn't want to be there anymore than I did." Was perhaps the nicest thing he had to say for them.

It was difficult for Miles to muster up sympathy for them after having almost been killed by them a number of times, but there was a compassionate note when he reflected on some of the deaths he'd witnessed. "Who knows." He remarked at one point, having weaved some lie about how Walker met his end. "Maybe if Murkoff hadn't existed they would have gotten real help and none of this would have happened." He suggested, gesturing to his missing fingers pointedly.

For all his quirks, Miles was nothing if not impassioned. It was easy for those listening to get swept up in the emotion of it all, perhaps even unaware it was happening. Miles was playing them like a fiddle and even Blaire had reluctantly conceded that he had an impressive way with words. It was just the right level of humanity, anger and empathy to endear him to the court. Despite his problematic presentation.

But what really sold his stories was the footage that he provided.

Miles watched on in silence, only the ridged posture of his spine showed how truly uncomfortable he was as the nightmare played out again in the footage.

It was a first for those in the court. They'd heard Miles's story and they could clearly see what he had lost, but to see it happening right in front of them on the screen gave a new element of reality to it all. Miles had never showed another soul this footage. It had been Waylon's recordings that made it into the hands of the public and while they were horrendous in their own right – this was  _new_.

Some of those that were not obligated to observe ever little shred of evidence even turned away at moments and when someone jumped or let out a sound of alarm no one else dared comment.

Then the camera was taken from Miles's hands and for the first time they saw him as he was then. Dirty, bruised and bloody as he sat strapped into the mad doctor's chair and staring directly into the camera – terrified.

There was something disturbing about finally seeing his face on that screen, seeing the man they'd just watched give a rather passionate sermon on why Murkoff were a bunch of thunderfucks, suddenly pulled back down into just a trapped, horrified man.

And someone had to excuse themselves when the fingers were removed.

More eyes were averted, more murmurs of discontent passing through those watching as the recorded screams of pain echoed through the room.

However, for some the effort to block out the audio and visuals had started long before the doctor took up his weapon of choice.

The moment Dr. Trager's voice came flittering through to the running man, deceptively sane with promises of safety if he got into the lift, Blaire had turned his eyes downwards. He'd seen so much of his own handiwork – he had no desire to see what Trager had become. His imagination had been serviceable enough.

All the while Miles watched.

Hunched over the witness bench, eyes glued to the screen at his side. Flat and dead, so disconnected that he might as well no longer have with them. Back inside that asylum as he watched it play out.

When he began to look too distant, Riley coughed. The sound startled many of the people in the courtroom, they'd been so invested in the film that even that very natural human sound scared them.

Upon hearing it Miles went tense, eyes flashing as they came back the present. Then, at a snail's pace, he tilted his head towards Riley and the others; saw them sitting there, silent but supportive, and gradually the deadlock his muscles had set into eased away. The slight nod he gave their way was so minute it probably went completely missed by the rest of the gathering.

He was fine. He was all there and Walrider didn't stir.

The rest of the footage became less and less coherent. Miles did his best to continue filming even with the loss of his fingers but he'd bloodied the screen and his hold was no longer steady. Bits and pieces were missing and it all came to an end before the final horror could be witnessed. Wernicke was one more madman on his recording – there was no Walrider. It was just some mad scientist's delusion. That was the lie they told with the best intentions.

It was a lie easily believed.

Once the footage concluded, Miles was asked to speak again. This time when the court called on him, it was with a softer voice. They may have been required to be impartial but there was a very human compassion to the gentle tone they addressed him with now.

Miles knew what he wanted to say at the end of it all. "It didn't have to happen." He told them grimly. "None of it. None of this had to…" For the first time since taking center stage, Miles lost his words and could only shake his head. They did not rush him.

When the reporter did finally find his tongue again, it was with a vengeance. "Murkoff burnt that asylum to the ground. If I can't burn them down in return, then I sure as hell can make sure they never get the chance to do anything like this ever again."

And so the first of their nails was placed.

With Miles successfully lead off stage, Riley was able to take his place.

The changeover was not without some interaction. Riley had been determined not to do anything unorthodox but he could not restrain himself when he and Miles briefly crossed paths between the seats and the stand.

His hand reached out, pressing against Miles's chest to halt him for a second. Miles glanced between the hand on his chest and Riley, still a little drained from the experience.

Riley offered up a smile that was nothing but prideful. "You did great." He murmured gently wanting nothing more than to embrace the man but knowing that would be going too far. He passed by Miles, patting his shoulder as a compromise.

Unlike Miles, Riley was nothing short of deadly formal. His every muscle remained locked throughout the ordeal. When asked to give his account of working for Murkoff he listed off the slights against him and the wrongdoings on his part with a mechanical voice. He recalled easily and quickly his early days in the asylum. How the shift of power had been so gradual he hadn't noticed. How little comments grew into threats and then into promises until Riley would jump on command. They twisted him into positions he didn't dare break for fear of punishment.

Not once did Riley stray from the focus of the topic. He did not add any personal feelings to the facts he was providing. It was nothing less than a systematic evaluation of Murkoff's ways. Even his own sins left little impact on Riley's tone. He spoke about David, who he had dragged to the engine program himself on Trager's behest. He had done worse than Trager's amusement, and not once did his voice waver.

It wasn't until he was directly asked what he felt that Riley's icy shell began to crack and all the nervousness underneath began to ooze out.

"How I  _felt_ …?" He repeated as though it were some great surprise they'd asked. "I… didn't." He decided slowly.

The explanation that followed was clumsy, the most uncertain he'd been since taking the stand. "I mean I-I tried not to. I tried to just do what I was told. Tried to keep my head low, out of trouble but… it just kept going. They just kept asking for more and  _more_  and I…I did it."

 _Why_?

The question was so simple but it broke Riley where he stood. He buckled under the weight of that simple word.

"I couldn't…Trager he—I… I  _couldn't_."

It was a genuine effort to keep Miles from getting up.

Waylon had to plant both hands on the man to keep him still when Riley crumbled at the stand. It took a while; Riley needed time to remember his words - his truth or lies - it didn't matter. He just needed to speak.

And finally he did. "Because they could take so much more away." He answered, voice breaking in the middle of the words.

From there it was a slow return to the same level of composure he'd mustered before. He never quite recaptured it but Riley was eventually able to recount his own experiences in the asylum after the collapse.

The loss of his arm was perhaps the most unsettling part of his tale and it may have been Riley's matter of fact tone that contrasted Miles's earlier vivid imagery that made it so unnerving.

But what really sold Riley in the end was his motivation. He went through hell and back looking for his little brother and he'd found him.

Cost him an arm, a finger and likely the rest of his full nights of sleep, but he'd done it.

When Riley was able to conclude his story with that, he even managed a faint smile.

Once freed from the stand he wasted no time fleeing back to his seat. Miles was more than happy to greet him with an overly enthusiastic pat on the back and some hushed words that might have been teasing. It seemed to help although Riley was still deathly pale. He was no public speaker. Waylon was up next and he might have only been marginally better at addressing the crowd.

Whereas Miles was an image of strength against all odds and Riley a look at what happened when someone was not, Waylon was the image of an everyman trying his damndest to do even one good thing.

His nervousness was obvious as he got up there, shifting weight uneasily between his leg and the replacement he stood on now.

Compared to both men, Waylon's tone was entirely different. He apologized frequently, for the disturbing nature of the subject, for the sexual aspect of his story, for any persisting concerns it might leave the audience with. He worried that his story might affect people so deeply they required counseling. It went without saying that every single one of them would be getting it – a requirement of the court for this case.

He recounts with the same tone of apology how it was his email that caused Miles to end up where he had. Spoke to them about how scared he was, but how in the end it was his morality that won out and forced him to reach out to try and find someone stronger than himself to put a stop to it all.

Distantly, he talked about that final day, seeing the man that would become the Groom throwing himself against the glass with pleas for help. "I couldn't in the end." He relates tiredly. "The things that Eddie Gluskin did… before and after the asylum are too awful to think about but… maybe I could have done something sooner? Even if it didn't help him, maybe it would have saved all those men that he…"

The guilt in Waylon was so heavy that it began to press upon the entire court and Sebastian shifted uneasily. His hope for Gluskin had long since been snuffed out and when Park's own footage was played, he felt as though it might have been foolish of him to ever hold out hope in the first place. He knew of Eddie's atrocities, he knew the man's sins inside and out – it had been his job to do so. But seeing an already broken man somehow be shattered even more only to be remolded into something far worse… well, it was heartbreaking.

But he did not look away from the images on the screen that Waylon had captured. Not even when he caught a glimpse of himself. The thing he had been in the asylum. Upon seeing Sebastian's figure among the chaos however, some in the court began to whisper. After all, the monster on that screen was sitting among them.

Sebastian did not feel the weight of their judgment so much as he simply buckled under the return of his own guilt. He would never truly forget the thing he had been, but seeing it from Waylon's perspective dragged all that shame and disgust back to the surface.

This was not the best mindset to be in when it came time for him to take the stand. But Waylon had said his piece and Sebastian was being called up next. Much like the small exchange between Miles and Riley – Waylon stopped for a second to catch Sebastian's attention. His hand snaring the blonde's before he could step up to the stand.

Alarmed, Sebastian stared aghast at Waylon.

Had they not been on some kind of established silence?

Waylon made it very clear what he thought of Sebastian's choices in regards to Blaire, but he still stopped him now – concern swimming behind his eyes.

Nervously Waylon looked from Sebastian back towards the now black screen and then said very quietly. "That's  _not_  who you are." The hand he had around Sebastian's tightened a fraction. "Remember that."

It was a comfort he didn't deserve but Sebastian took it with a wave of gratitude. To know that even through all his sins, Waylon could still look at him and see something other than that thing he had been. It was everything he needed in that moment and so when Sebastian did take his turn on stage, he did so with a sense of acceptance.

His story began much like Waylon's had. Like the three before him, it's a story of blood and it's with a great weariness that he speaks about his own naivety and what it cost him.

Sebastian spoke as much about the patients as he is able before they're ushering him along to the true focus of the story. It's difficult not to become frustrated by this – his insanity is spectacle surely but the patients – the victims – were of more importance.

They ask about the person they saw on Waylon's recordings and he does not shy away from the freak he was and might still be in some small way. He explains what little he remembers from the haze of blood and anger, tells what he thinks he can tell in confidence that it is not some illusion his damaged mind had conjured up at the time.

It's not easy but Sebastian did not lock up like his brother had, having come to terms with most of his crimes. So, as he recounted his 'therapy sessions', Sebastian did so with only the occasional pause to consider his facts before going on.

Then when it is all said and done he explained the asylum's monsters. "Murkoff takes broken men and used them for profit. That's all there is to it, no matter who they might have been before the experiments; they were not that person after them. A good man can become the most unimaginable monster in a place like that."

It seemed strange to him when their next question is simply. "And do you think you were a good man?" Sebastian doesn't respond for a moment, tries to remember what he thought of himself before the asylum and finds he barely knows that person.

Innocent maybe, but also complacent and  _stupid_.

Sebastian chuckles under his breath when he abruptly realised how deeply he hates who he was.

Almost as much as the man that made him that way hated him.

Laughter is not the correct answer and it shows in the unease on the faces of those closest to him. Sebastian goes on unconcerned by those unsettled expressions. "I don't think I'm in any position to say if I was or was not. But I never hurt anyone.  _Never_. I wasn't capable of it until Murkoff tore me apart."

"And in your opinion Murkoff was doing this knowingly and maliciously?"

Despite himself Sebastian's knee jerk reaction is to clarify exactly what he thinks of the organization. Of human nature more specifically. "Not exactly. Murkoff itself is just a company. Knowingly, yes but maliciously? Of course not. They're only looking to make money. Not malicious, but indifferent certainly."

In his mind, this might be a step worse than if they'd done it with the intention to cause harm. But he knew that was not the case – they simply didn't  _care_.

"But the things you describe the personnel doing  _are_  malicious. An abuse of power."

They were pressing.

Sebastian's expression pinched slightly as they continued to needle this point. "Some." He granted reluctantly. "There were good and bad people working in the asylum. Almost all of them died in that place and those few that didn't suffered their own losses. Everybody became a victim. Everybody except Murkoff."

"And what motivated Murkoff to have you committed to the engine program?" He is asked and Sebastian hesitated.

For a brief moment his gaze drifts, only for a shortest second, towards their quiet little group in the corner.

Despite all his better senses he sees Blaire sitting there.

The man's eyes are sharp, focused on him as he waits for what Sebastian to say precisely what happened. To say his name.

Just as quickly as he'd looked, Sebastian turns away to face the court again. "I was a nuisance." He explained simply. "Too invested in the patients, not quiet enough or controlled enough for Murkoff. I imagine they'd intended to get rid of any other loose ends like myself and Mr. Park in the same fashion."

He did not meet Jeremy's stare again, doesn't dare look as the next question comes. But he could feel him staring and refused to look back even as he continues to avoid his name.

"I spent my time in the asylum riots looking for my brother. But I got… distracted. Started holding those mockeries of therapy sessions. I like to think I was trying to help, in my own twisted way, but it did no one any good in the end. When Riley found me it helped to ground me, pull me back to reality and I dragged both my brother and myself out of that place. Miss Sisko found us and helped us get to a hospital. Without her help I'm sure we would have died out there."

After all the detail he had given, it seemed both appropriate and a disservice to summaries it all so easily.

"And where have you been these past few months? After the riots. Why not come forward earlier?"

"It took… time." Sebastian said slowly, guarding his words carefully. "My brother was in hospital, for quite some time and for that time I believed we might be the only ones that survived. I ran into Waylon out of sheer luck and when I heard his story I thought Murkoff was still untouchable. He'd done his best to provide evidence against them and it still was not enough. I was… scared. Saw Murkoff behind every shadow."

There were never enough locks on the door, always sounds outside in the woods that kept him on edge.

"And when was it you felt safe to come forward?"

He laughed. Couldn't help it. "I do not feel safe." Sebastian clarified. "Not in the slightest. All that changed is that I think we have a chance to actually do some good now."

Again he hesitated before taking a deep breath and speaking the name he had done his very best to avoid speaking aloud.

"With Mr. Blaire here, I feel we can do that."

All that came after this was little more than nitpicking.

He repeated facts when asked, elaborated on the smallest details he'd rather not waste time with and further painted the image of the freak he'd been in the asylum. Sebastian was patient with them. Answered every question they had and sated what might have just been morbid curiosity after some time.

Surely they needed no more evidence from him but still they poked and prodded for more details. He provided calmly, albeit with a growing disquiet. When they finally released him it seemed they were all in need of release.

A recess was called and a heavy sigh was shared among all those gathered. A kind of tension they hadn't realised had been building suddenly broken as they were allowed a moment to just breathe again.

Having kept his composure while under the spotlight, Sebastian felt himself coming undone as he was lead off. His legs were shaking and all those nerves he'd bottled up were beginning to slip out. The words he'd spoken tasted like ashen lies in his mouth and all those memories of the asylum had clogged up his thoughts.

How could he face Waylon and Riley as he was now? When everyone knew the monster he was. How could he face them and be met with nothing but support when he deserved none of it?

So he made his excuses, told his brother not to fret and made a beeline for the bathroom. He just needed a moment to collect himself away from the concerned, overly supportive eyes of loved ones.

It was a relief that they were separated from the rest of the congregation. Sebastian was able to remove himself from the presence of others and had no fear of more questions coming from those in the crowd as he barricaded himself in the bathroom.

The cold splash of water on his face was not nearly as refreshing as he'd thought it would be and briefly Sebastian thought of every single commercial and movie that told him it was all he'd need to wake up. The liars. Now he was shaky as well as cold and wet. Outstanding.

There was something comical about it really, after all the different layers of hell they'd been through it was this one that had him hiding. In a bathroom no less. Like a damn child.

Laughing dryly under his breath Sebastian braced himself against the sink. Eyes angled down so he would not catch his scarred reflection in the mirror. Instead he watched as tiny droplets of water dripped from the tips of his hair and splashed down into the basin. He could see both his hands holding him up, gripping the pearly white sink edge. Angry red mutations on his left, pale creamy skin on his right. Neither feeling quite right as he was caught in the middle.

Dragging in a heavy breath Sebastian sagged forward over the counter slightly, jostling more water from his hair. The quiet patter of water hitting the surface of the sink too loud in the silence of the bathroom.

He was still trembling. The nerves catching up to him now he was well off the stage. It was better than being waylaid by them while he'd been presenting he supposed.

"What the hell was  _that_?"

Sebastian stilled, almost having failed to notice he was no longer alone.

When Blaire had gotten there and why he chose only to say that rather than the more socially acceptable 'hello' was a genuine mystery.

It was a testament to how focused he'd been on not being tense that he'd not noticed Blaire's arrival at all. He'd been so absorbed by attempted to not be stressed, enough that the rest of the world had faded away in his attempts to not be anxious. Clearly a failed effort.

Only now did Sebastian glance up into the mirror, looking past his own reflection to see the man lingering behind him with a scowl plastered on his face. "I'm sorry?" He asked, too tired to even muster up the desire to make a remark on Blaire's blatant lack of social graces in that moment.

But for as belligerent as Blaire could be, he had genuinely not expected it when the older man reached forward and grabbed him by the shoulder.

There was a considerable amount of force being applied when Jeremy shoved him, jerking his shoulder back to force Sebastian away from the mirror and sink. The startled man barely got another word in before Blaire's hands had lashed out a second time to grab a fist full of Sebastian's suit, jerking him forward a step.

Instinctively he reached for Blaire's wrists to pull himself free but he'd been taken well and truly off guard by the sudden display of violence and before he'd even had the chance to retaliate Jeremy had slammed him back into the tiled wall. Then, as if for good measure, he repeated the motion in time with his angry words. "I asked you what the hell that was out there!"

It might have been a result of his brain rattling around in his head from the rough handling, but for a moment Sebastian had no idea what he'd done wrong. Blaire happily supplied clarification. "Where the hell do you get off pulling a stunt like that, huh? Did you think I'd be fucking grateful to you?"

Only Jeremy could find it in him to be angry when someone failed to throw dirt in his eye.

Once understanding settled in anger followed shortly after and Sebastian's eyes turned cold as he observed Blaire. "I didn't do that for you." He hissed shortly. "Your ego is getting in the way of your common sense –  _again_." For a moment Blaire's grip loosened, either surprised or somehow pacified by this retort. "I'm not sure if you noticed but we're all telling lies right now, Jeremy. Why take issue with mine?"

"Why did you lie about  _me_?" He pressed and Sebastian genuinely did not have a good answer prepared for him.

They'd spent so long getting their lies in order that he hadn't enough creativity left to conjure up another one out of thin air for this unexpected situation. "What does it matter?" He replied instead, attempting to avoid having Jeremy look any closer at his choices. "It doesn't."

If Blaire started scrutinizing him then Sebastian would need to find answers he didn't have the energy to process in that moment. For once he wanted to be the one that turned away from the reality and took solace in the fragile lie Blaire so often took refuge behind.

But as always Jeremy was not nearly as courteous as he was and in record time he broke that illusion.

So many months cultivating this fragile lie and he tore it apart in a matter of seconds.  _Inconsiderate prick_.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Bullshit it doesn't matter, Sinclair." He spat; the fingers fisted in his suit –  _ruining_  it – once again jerked Sebastian forward and into the older man's space.

"Why don't you fucking grow up already? Don't you get it, you can't be  _good_  anymore! You don't get to live in that delusion anymore. Stop pretending."

Anger. Blinding, irrational, all consuming and suddenly it was all he could feel.

Breaking from Blaire's hold was easy, tossing both his hands out to catch Jeremy by his shoulders and throw them both to the ground only slightly more difficult.

A dull sound of pain punched its way out of Blaire when he met with the floor with a heavy thud, Sinclair atop him both hands wrapped around his throat.

Suddenly he was back at the shack, Sinclair threatening to choke the life out of him so many times and for a second Jeremy didn't really mind all that much. But it was only for a moment and then he returned to the bathroom floor and there was a need to survive that had not existed before. A need to keep breathing air so that he could reach tomorrow.

No matter how final a nail it would have been in Sebastian's objections to being a monster to die there under his hand.

But the would be monster was trembling, his fingers not tightening enough to cut off airflow. "Who was the one that brought us here! What's so wrong if I'm doing this for you?" He demanded, voice rising to a near shout.

"Who is the one that keeps telling lies? Saying how you hate, saying that you don't care. Pretending you can't see what is so obvious to everyone else. Acting like  _you need me_  here to survive, acting like  _I need you_  here just to justify my existence. Holding onto that childish lie! Who is the one that won't grow up, huh!"

The trembling became worse. "Always pushing me. Always trying to twist me – what the hell are you playing at?" Shaking so violently that Blaire could feel it right down to the kid's finger pads as they pressed into his throat. "Why do you want me to hurt you? Why does it have to be  _me_? Is it so wrong if I don't hate you the way you want me to?" Gritting his teeth Sebastian attempted to choke down the threat of tears.

Why did it always get to this point? Why did Blaire insist on pushing him to these limits? Just to see him crack again, just so he could see how unsightly he was underneath it all?

Would it have really been so wrong to  _just once_  abandon all of that?

He did not want to fight anymore, but Blaire made every little thing a battle. A war he wasn't willing to let die.

Sebastian couldn't keep that up. So of course he was angry when Sebastian did not speak the damning words to their audience. Of course he was upset that Sebastian had not laid out all of his sins right then and there.

He couldn't keep being Blaire's weapon of choice to punish himself.

"That's what it is, right…?" He ventured with a breathless laugh of disbelief. "Making me the knife at your neck…You bastard, I never agreed to that." He'd had enough.

Even if without that sick variation of self-harm there'd be nothing left to tie them together. Letting strings that they'd so painstakingly stitched to one another be cut, there'd be nothing left to keep them there.

But enough was enough. The delusion had to end.

So he let go of Blaire.

Scarred and pale fingers unwound from Blaire's neck retreating and a moment later Sebastian moved to follow them. To climb back to his feet and turn away and leave it all behind. They'd deal with the loose, frayed ends of the severed strings later – through Waylon, through others, never each other. He could not –  _would not_  – be Jeremy's punishment.

"Hey, hold on a second!" Blaire reached up, catching Sebastian's wrist and stilling the man for only a moment. "You can't just-!"

"Can't what?" Sebastian cut in, a bitter smile twisting on his face. "Walk away?"

It was unusual to see Blaire properly at a loss for words but Sebastian thought it only appropriate he have the last word this time. "Lets finish it here." Snapping his wrist out of Blaire's fingers Sebastian moved far enough that Blaire could no longer reach him. It might have been the kindest choice Blaire had ever made, letting Sebastian walk away, and the cruelest of his.

Maybe if it had been different. Maybe if Blaire had not desired to wield him as a tool of abuse Sebastian could have left those strings tied around their wrists.

He wasn't a good person, this much he accepted. But that did not mean he had to be the monster Blaire wanted him to be and so he cut those strings – these sentimental attachments of theirs – no matter how painful it might have been for either one of them. Even if neither of them liked the pain very much.

 _If it must be done._  He reminded himself as he left Jeremy behind, making a beeline for the sanctuary of the other's presence. Soon this too would end and Sebastian would be able to escape a little further.  _I must endure it._

Perhaps he'd understand that by now.

…

…

Once the court was called back, wholly unaware of the shift in the air, it was finally Blaire's turn.

Waylon had been looking for the man, horrified by his tardiness. Everyone else had come back with time to spare but Blaire had been the last to rejoin them. "Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you." Waylon hissed under his breath, grabbing for Jeremy the moment he found the man, tugging him back inside.

"Don't mother me, Park." Blaire's voice was tight but Waylon thought the usual aggression was a little bit off. Something about his tone.

Disturbed, Waylon went looking for any sign of sudden anxiety in Blaire's face and found nothing but a cold hard glare behind his eyes. Catching Waylon's openly concerned stare he responded with a smile that was all teeth and hard edges – something like a relic from the old days. Enough that Waylon released Jeremy's hands and took a little step away, providing the man with the space he desired.

"You wanted me to end Murkoff for you, Park? Want me to dismantle them right here and now? Well then, let me go to work."

 _Oh shit_ , Miles had a similar air about him before he'd waltzed up onto the stand and put forward a similar introduction. Waylon wanted to plead, to beg, with Jeremy not to do just the same. To keep whatever theatrics he had in mind to a minimum – but he kept those words to himself.

This was Jeremy's domain after all.

And so he let the man walk past him, adjusting his tie as he went. Had he re-tied it?

It was an entirely different scene when Blaire took center stage. Miles had been livid, energetic and more than ready to paint them a gory picture. Waylon had been nervous, apologetic and Riley had been formal in his approach till he broke up. Even Sebastian had taken to the stand with a sort of clinical detachment where he could allow for it. But when Blaire stood there – he simply looked at home. Like there was no place he was better suited to being, then once he was comfortable he gestured for the show to begin, already smiling in that predatory way that made Waylon's skin crawl and his stomach ache with phantom pains of a knife being jammed inside.

Had he been terrified taking that spotlight it would have been understandable. He'd been a dead man walking since he failed Murkoff. But he stood there with a confidence that suggested this did not matter to him anymore.

The process began in a similar fashion to Waylon and Riley's. He was asked his name and relationship to Murkoff – all of which was already well known by the questioners but still a formality they could not bypass. Jeremy readily and easily supplied his answers. "Jeremy Blaire." He said simply. "Formerly I worked as a Murkoff executive stationed at Mount Massive Asylum." And in his head there followed the amused echo of ' _your supervisors, supervisor_.'

"You worked for Murkoff for how long?"

"My entire adult life."

"And what exactly was it the company placed you in charge of. Primarily, that is."

"Secret keeping." Blaire mused with a careless shrug. He took his time explaining his role in the company, which particular cog he was responsible for turning.

"Murkoff stationed me at the asylum to oversee the progress and report back the results of the tests being conducted on the patients. But my primary function was to make sure that any loose ends or potential leaks were patched before they could be a problem." For a moment he paused, gaze shifting to where Waylon sat purposefully and then added with a wicked smirk. " _Clearly_  I ought to have been fired."

"And everything in the asylum went through you?"

At this Blaire's expression twisted a little further, a little darker. Damning words coming easily. "Everything." He confirmed and when asked if that included the unjust imprisonment and torture of former employees Blaire very nearly laughed, repeating firmly. " _Everything_. Especially the transfer of employees. Once someone became a liability they'd be moved into the patient program. Told they had experienced some mental failing or another due to the nature of their work and as a valued employee of the corporation – were entitled or rather obligated to undergo care. Until time of death. After that it became a small matter finding places to stash them."

It was while Jeremy haphazardly mapped out the extent of Murkoff's crimes and his own that he became aware of a common theme among the eyes of his – dare he think it – companions.

They were staring at him like he'd gone mad.

Jeremy did not need to look their way to know that they were practically screaming ' _what are you doing'_  at him in their heads. Although he did toss a careless glance Waylon's way and saw that – yes, he did look just like that.

It must have been morbidly amusing, to watch a man digging his own grave. That was fine, he'd be sharing it with Murkoff.

"Murkoff instructed you to do this?"

For a second Jeremy paused, what had been a permanently antagonistic expression faltering for moment on that question. That almost sounded like some kind of lead in to explaining his crimes. He had not asked for that.

Irritated he still readily gave an answer that would help bury Murkoff. "Yes." Although he sounded bitter in having to do so. "Murkoff was very clear about what they wanted done. There were to be no witnesses."

"And this included other people in your position?" His blood ran cold.

Jeremy stares at the person questioning him. They seemed faceless, just the voice box to question him so that the judges could hear it all out loud. He couldn't conjure up anger towards this characterless voice box, which made it very difficult to curb the harsh bite in his one word answer.

"Yes."

They were unsatisfied. He'd been so full of information just a moment earlier, now he was giving them table scraps. So they pushed. "You said everything in the asylum passed through you. Did this include the imprisonment of other executives like yourself?"

They were digging into open wounds. Didn't even have the common fucking courtesy to do it maliciously. They were just clinically dismantling the situation and Blaire had no choice but to provide answers.

This time when he answered he thought of Miles's recordings. "Yes."

The voice box went on. "What kinds of infractions did Murkoff have you cleaning up?"

This one was easier. "Anything that threatened to give them away. Talking too much with the patients, talking to anyone outside of the establishment – even attempting to resign."

_Blood dreams, three letters of dismissal, too much compassion, an email – plenty more._

"If you understood the extent of Murkoff's misconduct why did you continue to assist them?"

There it was. The question he'd been waiting to be asked.

Jeremy Blaire opened his mouth to simply state the most obvious thing in the world. Because he was greedy, because he simply did not care what happened to those people. Because he was a bad person.

The words got jammed in his throat and for the third time he ended up feeling Waylon's stare on him.

He thought about the promises he'd made. The deals they'd struck and a few they'd never properly put into words but existed all the same. He thought about Lisa and the boys back at the house. Car packed, just waiting for them to come back so they could leave this place and all of it behind.

Tomorrow still in sight.

If he opened his mouth and spoke that old truth he might just wipe it all away. But that had been his goal when taking the stage that day – to put Murkoff in the ground and himself along with them.

He could stay this way. Keep pretending… he did not see.

Sighing heavily Blaire once again returned his gaze to the voice box and all those waiting judges. Eyes cold as his antagonistic display melted away and left behind just Jeremy in its wake. Tired, angry and about to be more honest with this gathering than he'd been with himself in months.

Time to grow up he supposed.

"What choice did I have?" He remarked. "I told you, all things in the asylum passed through me. I saw what happened to people like me if we grew a conscience, if we so much as said a wrong word. Bad for business you see. I'd be just as dead as the rest of them. I had no immunity, no control, no power."

"Now I'm not going to stand up here and tell you I didn't do wrong by those people." He could have gone the other way. Gloated about those little moments of visceral glee he experienced when he was able to conjure up some illusion of control. Moments only made possible when destroying someone else.

_A smashed laptop, turning friends on friends, a cruel smile – plenty more._

"But I can do something right now. Won't bring them back, but it might be something close to justice." For those sentimental attachments he'd allowed to be cut. "Bottom line, Murkoff killed people for profit. If you'd like me to I can go into detail on smaller crimes. The extortion, the tax evasion, black mail, so on and so forth. It feels a little trivial with the mountain of bodies they've left behind but I can and will give you every little detail if you's like me to."

They asked if he would. And so he did.

Jeremy Blaire spent hours up there, detailing every tiny misdeed of Murkoffs. Explaining where more evidence could be found, who could be asked for further information. The antagonistic smile returned, stronger, truer and it remained even as exhaustion began to set in. For those few hours he systematically and viciously took the company that had owned him apart.

Murkoff was finished and all their bullshit died with Jeremy Blaire.

Then finally at the end he was asked about the present and that smile shifted. Gentler now, resigned as the walls that had been built up were stripped away and his little façade ended.

"And if you could go back?" The voice box asked one final question. As if it could size up his new view of the world with just the one.

"If I could go back?" Jeremy repeated slowly while that smile wearily clung to his lips. "Who can say for sure? Something different maybe. Probably get myself killed, but I'd take Murkoff down with me if I could." If he had his way there'd be no burns, no wooden legs or missing fingers.

And a few more delusions if he were allowed them.

They released him and Jeremy was returned to his little band of idiots where Waylon quickly enveloped him in a tight hug. Had he been a stronger man it would have been bone crushing but as it was Jeremy only found it a little difficult to breathe.

It took a moment but begrudgingly he returned the gesture, able to feel the shock of being hugged back by Blaire race through Waylon's shoulders. "Don't get used to it." He advised quietly, voice void of any heat. "I'm doing this for all for me."

Always for himself.

Hardly seemed to matter as Waylon beamed at him, the soft idiot looked ready to tear up at any second. Thankfully they were being urged along. "Come on." Miles muttered to them, ushering though he dared not touch. "Let's get out of here."

There'd be more talk, more witnesses and discussion – but they could be free of it. Blaire noticed as the remaining of their group stood, Sebastian stayed back for a moment with his brother to speak to the woman yet to take the stand. Mary, he recalled distantly, a lingering note of bitterness in that recognition.

The escorts that had brought them in had returned, supposedly to provide protection until they were out of the public eye. Waylon had to detach himself and for once Blaire did not make a show of being relieved to be free of the man. This whole honesty thing was going to take some breaking in, but he was making good progress.

He'd been braced for the small commotion once they left the courthouse. Reporters – he still had a rather violent dislike of them; It was raucous, the chaos of people all jabbering and clambering to get a statement kick starting what would become a spectacular headache.

Although entertainingly it seemed Miles didn't like being on the opposite side of this arrangement for the first time either and cringed away when cameras were put into his face. Jeremy had just started to scoff at the man, maybe throw out a mocking word while the thought was on his mind when the coldness hit him.

Or rather the  _sound_  of it hit him. Always the sound.

And in this sound Jeremy wondered –  _will this be the one?_

A sudden bang and then a second of dazed silence before the cold set in. Before the screaming began. In that brief pause there was a hiss and Jeremy still felt he might have had it in him to laugh upon hearing the vicious words uttered to him.

"Murkoff accepts your official resignation."

 _Fucking moron._ Had he been able to Jeremy would have smirked, he wouldn't be the only one that heard that and so this idiot single handedly sealed Murkoff's fate.

Although he might have just done a little more than that.

It was unrightfully cold, the mouth of the gun that had been used to fire the single bullet was still smoking. It should have burnt but there was nothing hot about the gradual spread of the numbness around the entry wound. Blaire was still looking at the would-be assassin, already being dragged to the ground, the gun knocked clean from their hands before any more damage could be done.

The crowd was split between fleeing to safety and moving forward, the ones that pressed in closer were more like Miles he supposed. Anything for that best snapshot.

But Jeremy himself barely budged an inch, hands quivering as they hovered over the neat little hole in his borrowed suit. Lisa had  _just_  bought this for him.

Waylon's voice filtering back in through the chaos around him, a frantic buzz in his ears as the man held his shoulders, attempting to keep him upright. Jeremy had not even realised he'd been collapsing until his legs properly gave out from under him and they both buckled to their knees.

It was beginning to drip through his fingers now, soaking his palms and sliding between the gaps in his fingers. Getting everywhere. Turning everything red.

Muted as the world around him was, chilling as the numbness that rapidly spread through him was far more concerning. He'd felt this before, this refusal as his mind rejected the severity of what it was being asked to process.

' _That was fine'_  he thought distantly.

There was nothing wrong with this… it was – if he were to be perfectly honest – long overdue. So even as he sat there on his knees, getting his blood all over Waylon's hands in his panicked attempts to block up the profusely bleeding wound, Jeremy eyed the nameless idiot that had come to kill them and mustered up a sneer. "Looks like we're the winners." He muttered. "Beat you fair and square."

He might have said that, or he might have only attempted the word. It was hard to tell. He was passing out. Dying, maybe. It was even harder to muster up the energy to care.

Again he thought – this is fine. This was it, nothing more to think about. He'd won.

Except he could just hazily make out the world around him as it gradually sapped away and found he might have been the only one so contented.

Waylon's hands still holding him together, Miles's angry voice over the chaos as it began to unwind into something not quite human and eventually another hand on him. Just the one, stronger than Waylon's and slightly better suited to attempting to find ways to mend what had been broken.

Then finally a familiar voice shouting, followed by a crack as the head of the shooter was slammed against the concrete – more screaming.

"Don't!" One voice yelled, muffled as his grip on consciousness faded. "We need him!"

There was more blood on the ground. Not his this time. So many people trying to control the situation and yet no one had been able to stop the first two violent kicks that broke the man's nose on the pavement.

"Waylon, I need your hands here, I can't do it with just one."

The suit was red and black, which was fortunate. The blood kept on spreading. The hands on him were pushing harder, stripping the jacket off and Jeremy might have protested if his tongue had not turned to lead in his mouth. They'd see the scars.

The third kick might have split the man's head open and then there was a different scuffle, different hands trying to control the second man before there was another death on their hands.

"Control yourself, kid. Jesus, Sin calm down!"

Someone else screaming. He would have told them it was alright if he could. They'd won after all, but the world was dropping away.

Tomorrow dropping away from him.

…

…

The new employee had been a pest Blaire could have done without.

It was such a trivial thing really. But Blaire could not for the life of him shake the kid's smile from his mind. It lingered, incessant and relentless in the back of his mind. At first he'd thought perhaps he'd bring it up to Trager; Rick had taken a bit of a shine to the other Sinclair boy and Blaire had been more than happy to enable and indulge his hobby of probing at Riley's sore spots.

But Rick was not there when Blaire went to see him.

He'd been rather confused by that.

Trager, while prone to wandering on a whim, was most often in his office. The thought of messaging him crossed Blaire's mind disinterestedly. He'd just retrieved the phone from his jacket pocket when some lower class employee came up to him papers in hand.

"What are these?" He'd asked even as he took them from the man's hands. Blaire waited for an answer and was put off by how long it took to come. Glancing up he found the worker was bloodless in the face, pale as though he'd just seen his own mother ghost over Blaire's shoulder.

Fear was by no means an unusual reaction for the workers when dealing with Blaire, but this seemed a bit extravagant – he had barely said a word and the man looked ready to piss in his own boots. "Out with it then." Blaire snipped, between this employee's silence and Sinclair's irritating smile he was running awfully low on patience.

Startling the man straightened out his spine and began to ring his hands nervously. "E-Employee transfer papers." He explained nervously. "I…I was told to bring them straight to you."

Just as Blaire began to mutter something under his breath about the joys of modern technology being able to cut out that middleman, he finally took notice of the name inked onto the documents.

Trager was not in his office.

For a second Blaire stilled. The employee opposite him was squeezing his own hands so hard he was likely leaving bruises, expecting any moment to be a casualty of whatever explosion Blaire might undergo. Instead the silence stretched and no one moved. Blaire wasn't so much as breathing.

But then slowly his fingers turned the papers over, running over the words. The little lies that spoke of an unhinged mental status that would be made real soon enough once the 'treatments' began familiar ones. "This is going to put a wrench into this month's scheduling." He finally announced and the employee didn't seem to process what was being said at all.

Uttering uncertain little "Sir…?" He was spoken over and ignored. "Unless you have somewhere to be I want you to get Steven in my office by the hour. Going to have to rework the whole timetable around this. A little more warning would not kill higher management."

Still the employee was staring. As if Blaire had somehow failed to complete some base social expectation by continuing on with his day. "We're going to need to clear this office space out as well. No one worth putting in it just yet but we'll make do."

"I'm sorry, sir. I…um?"

Blaire snapped.

"Why are you still standing there?" He barked, getting a violent flinch out of the man. "You don't waste time, not while you're on Murkoff's payroll. Get back to work before we have to re-evaluate your work ethic."

The poor man went scrambling, leaving Blaire alone to ponder how he'd best fix this little hitch. They'd be needing to change the doctor's testing times. Get a few memos sent out – little bits and pieces to make sure this did nothing to impact the flow of Murkoff's progress.

He was just about done mentally mapping out the changes when Blaire noticed his hands were hurting. Confused he glanced to his fingers to see them clenched so tightly they were very nearly tearing the documents he held. When he attempted to lax his grasp Blaire was met next with an alien feeling – his eyes were stinging.

Alarmed he pressed his palm to his eye, almost expecting to feel something wet gathering at the corners but found nothing. Just the sting.

"Mr. Blaire…?"

For the second time since his employment, dr. Sinclair managed to startle Blaire.

When he turned he was met with the blue eyes he'd come to rather despise in those past few weeks. He expected the airy smile and vacant expression but instead when he faced Sinclair this time he found that usually sunny face had turned cloudy.

From where he stood a small distance away from Blaire, just the two of them in the empty hallway, Sinclair had his hand reached out a faction, as though he'd intended to touch Blaire and then thought better of it at the last moment, the action left incomplete. "The… The warden sent us away from the male ward. I didn't realise we were getting a new patient in today and I didn't know Mr. Trager was going to be ther—" He stopped, worried eyes focusing more firmly on Blaire's face. Finding something he disliked there.

"Mr. Blaire…? You seem distraught. Is everything alright, sir?" He asked, sweet voice hushed into one of concern. He even managed a small encouraging smile. "Is there something I can do for you?"

 _Yes_ , Blaire wanted to scream. A sudden swell of violent anger surged through his body, choking Blaire with the sheer savagery of the thoughts.

 _Yes_ , he wanted to spit.  _You can stop fucking looking at me. You can stop pestering me. You can just take all your kindness and fuck off! You don't belong here, you shouldn't even exist. The way you view the world means nothing to me. Just stop looking at me like that. Stop smiling at me!_

It would not have been enough to scream the words. Not enough to take a knife and carve them into Sinclair's skin just to make sure he fucking remembered them. There was no force on this earth that would have quelled his anger in that moment and yet not so much as a whisper of his thoughts were given voice.

Instead what came out of his mouth was simply. "Not at all." Then with a deep breath used to push all the unsaid words back down Blaire turned to look at Sebastian coldly. "There's nothing you can do for me."

Knowing that if he was forced to stay there and suffer through Sinclair's presence for even a second longer he'd likely snap and get his hands bloody, Blaire turned away with a word of excusal. He had so much work to do, after all. So much needed to be changed with this new development. He'd thought himself free for the moment but Sinclair had the poor manners to speak where he should have remained diligently silent.

"Jeremy?" Blaire stopped out of shock alone, not having heard an employee call him by his first name before. The last person that said his name was no longer with them. "If… if there's ever a time you do need help please do not hesitate to ask me for it. I'll do whatever I can."

And he smiled. "If you ever need me, I'll help you however I can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before someone shanks me for this, keep in mind that I have two very dedicated friends - my beta reader and my editor - one of whom has threatened to murder me if I leave it here.
> 
> So yes, this is the last chapter (finally) but...well I might indulge in an epilogue. 
> 
> Which means if you have anything you want to say now is the time. Hate me or not, say it now. And I'll see you all in the epilogue...lets hope it's a kindhearted one.


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface this by saying it’s little more than a gift. 
> 
> I would have left the story where it ended initially but I had two people who helped me out a lot with this little story and…well I owed them at least one kindness. So this little extra ending is for them. Although I’m sure a few of you will prefer this as an ending and for those who don’t – well you still have the original ending. 
> 
> Take care kids.
> 
> …  
> ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed something. We keep saying ‘all for you’ or ‘all for me’ but…wouldn’t it be nice if it was – just for a change – ‘for us’ instead?

Murkoff was dismantled within the fortnight.

No one was surprised, certainly not the Murkoff higher ups themselves and great efforts had been made to track down those few that had already tried salvaging the sinking ship or fleeing from it. The company had already broken apart, rushing for other covers and names to hide behind but many of them had been established long before the corporation was broken apart.

Meaning most of their failsafes had already been outlined by that disgruntled former employee in the courthouse.

To make matters more difficult for them, they had created a leak of their own in the sinking vessel. Despite being worse for wear – some internal bleeding and a cracked skull – the would be assassin sent to settle the score had survived his experience and was thoroughly questioned by police as soon as he was conscious once again. He'd been more than ready to talk, more than willing to try and save his own skin not that it did much for him in the long run – he'd already spoken Murkoff's name when he pulled the trigger.

A costly message and not one Murkoff had asked him to deliver. His own mistake.

As the corporation floundered and more secrets were unearthed the more they flailed – the rest of the world was content to spin on.

The house the Parks found was a whole flight away from the little town they'd once resided. As far as they could do before crossing oceans was involved. Since that final day in the courthouse the family had not stopped to read the ever-growing list of atrocities committed by the company.

Waylon had very nearly been dragged back into it when his friend came to him with news that Murkoff had other sites like Mount Massive. Whole other experiments they'd been conducting. Miles was furious, livid, positively fuming as he presented this information to Waylon and were it not for Lisa quickly putting a pin in the conversation it might have gone further.

There were other victims from those other experiments that would fight those battles, theirs was over and so Waylon stepped down.

Miles had a harder time stepping away, which was why Lisa had eventually convinced him to move to the same city they had. Further out however. Somewhere people wouldn't come looking often, somewhere the Walrider could stretch its metaphorical legs without the risk of alarming civilians.

However Miles wouldn't have gone were it not for the fact he had someone else willing to go with him. "Always wanted to live on a ranch." Riley had claimed when Lisa implored him to take Miles away from the city. Away from the fight he seemed intent on joining. The distance wouldn't really work but perhaps it would buy them a bit more time before Miles did something reckless. "I'll keep an eye on him." And although Mary bemoaned the loss of her favorite customers, Riley and Miles made easy promises to come visit.

A week later, with a considerable amount of help, Miles was inspecting what would become his new home.

The old farmhouse they'd found was a wreck of a place. In disrepair, needing to practically be built from the ground up. But it was a secluded area and when Riley looked at the rustic build he'd smiled. A rare, genuine smile as he began to list of the things he could do with this. The ways it could be fixed, made better with his own efforts. Something that could be mended with little more than a real effort and some nails – Riley had always preferred these kinds of physical solutions.

Miles simmered down somewhat after this, able to turn his attention away from the last few kicks of the dying company and instead focus on helping Riley return the decrepit house to a more livable state. Kept himself busy with working out how to manage the Walrider when he wasn't helping fix some leaky roof or broken fence picket. And even though Riley still hesitated wherever the Walrider was concerned, he too began to adjust to its presence.

All good things took time.

Lisa and Waylon visited on occasion but most often they'd have the boys come to their house. For as much as they believed the farmhouse would one day be appealing – it was still early days yet.

Soon after settling in, unpacking the few boxes from their old home into the larger one they'd adopted, Noel and Jackie were returned to school. With some mixed responses.

Jackie disliked school, that much was clear and for as sociable a child as he was – he seemed to be having some difficulty settling into a new location. Noel was less vocal about his struggles but he was no less troubled by the abrupt change than his older brother.

After a week of this, Lisa decided something was to be done about the problem and she had just the thing in mind.

So come one Saturday morning, where Jackie was still openly sulking and Noel's silence come across a little more morose than usual, Lisa told them to pack their day bags.

They hadn't even asked what they were going out for, Jackie's eyes had simply lit up and he'd been off to gather whatever oddities he wanted to take with him on this occasion. Noel followed not long after, asking only for some paper to write on.

But of her boys it was Waylon that was perhaps the most relieved to be going out. "Should I call Sinclair?" He asked Lisa curiously, fiddling with the phone in his hands. Hesitant to put the numbers in. "You know…in case this time maybe he wants to come?"

"I wouldn't bother." Lisa shrugged as she slipped a few snacks into her own backpack. "I guarantee he's there by now." For as adamant as Sebastian might have been that he had no desire to go with them – his impulse control was by no means the best.

He'd have snapped by now surely.

As Jackie came flying down the stairs, a bounce in his step and the first grin on his face in a good long while, Lisa ushered the three of her boys into the car pausing only to consider the state of their new home. It was larger than the last, the addition of an extra bathroom and bedroom surprisingly noticeable. It felt just a little bit too empty, as though it had been built for five and was trying to make so with only four for the time being.

Closing up the house Lisa joined her family in the car, still adamant she be the driver.

The new city was still all fresh and shiny to them, but most importantly it felt void of Murkoff's influence and for the first time in months it felt like they could all take a deep breath and step outside without fear they'd be caught by some unseen malicious force.

Even as they pulled into the public parking space at the city's center – a place they'd dare not have gone before the courthouse – the greatest lingering fear was that someone might scratch the car while they were gone.

"You'd never seen two kids happier to be going to hospital." Waylon mused as they stepped through into the tiled floors of the city hospital. Lisa saw him cringe and immediately slid her fingers between his own, holding her husband's hand as firmly as she could without losing the tenderness of the action.

Waylon had never gone to see Riley when he was unconscious in his hospital bed after the riots. Not for lack of desire to do so, but rather he'd been unable to step foot into the hospital without panicking at the time. To this day he regretted not going, regretted letting Sebastian go to visit his brother all-alone no matter how frequently the other man had assured him it was alright.

He'd likely never be at ease in a place of healing ever again, but so long as Waylon had her and the boys at his side he'd manage just fine.

Although Jackie seemed unable to keep to the same casual pace as the rest of his family and went rushing on ahead despite his father's halfhearted attempts to rein him in. Running on ahead Jackie dodged his way past nurses and rolling trays, knowing his way to the room he wanted to be in better than he knew the layout of his new school.

Waylon would have knocked but Jackie just eagerly threw the door to the hospital room open with a happy smile plastered on his face. "Freeloader!" He greeted gleefully bouncing into the room and diving onto the stiff hospital bed before anyone had the chance to even consider stopping him.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me— _oof!_ " The words of protest died away as Jackie damn near winded the hospital bed bound man. He would not have been confident enough to be so physical weeks earlier when the man was still so frail from the multiple surgeries he underwent.

Jackie hadn't been allowed to see him for the longest time, the adults all being so grim about the situation until they finally relented and he'd almost cried that day. Not having expected to see his babysitter as weak as he'd been.

But the tears never came because Jeremy Blaire had taken one look at his face and firmly asserted. "Don't you  _dare_  start blubbering, Jackie." And so he hadn't.

Despite his grousing Jeremy managed to laugh along with a few coughs as he brought all the air Jackie had just knocked out of him back into his lungs. "Damn brat, what do you think you're doing? Trying to make sure I end up at the pearly gates for real this time, huh?" He chuckled, fingers finding their way into to Jackie's head to give his hair a harsh ruffling.

"Yeah, could you stop almost doing that?"

Jeremy glanced up upon hearing Lisa's vaguely amused remark and smirked back wryly. Waylon offered up a little wave instead of a verbal greeting, smiling sheepishly behind his wife.

"So sorry my constant near death experiences are such an inconvenience for you." He retorted before taking note of the bags the ground had brought with them. "Visitation day this early in the fortnight huh?" He ventured uncertainly and Lisa shrugged carelessly. Making an offhand comment about this being something of a special occasion while school was out.

Jeremy was still sharp enough to pick up on the problem. "So you little monsters, tell uncle Jer about this new playground of yours." He commanded, gesturing for Noel and Jackie to come sit on the hospital bed as he scooted up to make room. He was sore as hell but more than capable of moving around freely.

While he got to work listening to the many,  _many_  complaints that Jackie overflowed with and attempted to pick out a few words from Noel at the same time, Lisa and Waylon went about setting out the small picnic-esque gathering of food they'd brought with them.

Once that was all laid out the group sat and listened to the boys chatter at Jeremy. Lisa kept her seat by the window while Waylon sat next to Jeremy's bedside to occasionally put forward a word of his own in the conversation. Most of which were almost immediately shot down by Jeremy who seemed to think the best way for Jackie to break in this new school was to become the crowned king of the playground. An idea Jackie took to with a scary level of enthusiasm.

Lisa listened and watched, chin propped against her hand as she observed the four of them.

The day began to drag away from them. The boys had plenty to say and Jackie began to speak more rapidly the closer they got to the time they had to go. And as always Noel asked the same question of Jeremy. "When will you come home?"

To which Jeremy always replied with exactly the same comment. "As soon as they stop holding me prisoner."

Waylon didn't like hospitals because they left him on edge. Jeremy didn't like hospitals because they set his every nerve on edge. Were it up to him – and had Lisa not made it perfectly clear the punishment for causing trouble – he would have argued his way out of that bed by now.

She'd not expected them to adopt such an ill-tempered brat into the family, but the boys had always wanted a dog.

They were still being careful with this one, even through Jackie needed constant reminding that while Blaire was by no means on his deathbed he wasn't up for rough housing either.

Difficult to keep in mind when Jackie was so curious about the bullet still lodged somewhere inside of Blaire's skin. "If they ever get the little bastard out of my vital organs you can keep the damn thing." He'd told Jackie when questioned about the bullet. Only to be reprimanded by Waylon. For the language or for the morbid promise was debatable.

Fortunately it was not in fact lodged in any vital organs as he occasionally claimed. As uncomfortable as it might have been knowing there was a small nugget of metal nestled inside of the man's body, it was a far cry better than if it had come cleanly out the other side of his body. Two holes were much harder to patch than one and had that been the case he might not have made it to the hospital before bleeding out.

So keeping a little souvenir of yet another near death experience was a small price to pay for his continued existence.

Still Lisa regretted not being at the courthouse on that day. She knew that it was unlikely her being there would have changed anything but it might have given her some kind of peace of mind had she the chance to get her hands on the shooter.

Granted he'd not come away in perfect shape himself.

Until that day she didn't think anyone of them, bar perhaps Miles and Blaire, properly understood just how good Sinclair was with his hands. He'd been detained for two days after that incident, later released on the logic of 'the man had tried to kill a bunch of people'.

Made curious by this train of thought Lisa waited for Jackie and Noel to be reassured they'd be able to visit again in just a week. It always took some bargaining to get the boys to leave willingly. Fortunately Jeremy had retained that particular skill. Once they were willing to walk away instead of being dragged with Waylon ushering them out, Lisa finally spoke directly to Jeremy for the first time since arriving. "Any other visitors?"

She watched closely as Jeremy's expression turned stormy before becoming forcibly blank. "Other than one unfortunate call in from that lunatic reporter, no. He's still chasing after Murkoff's remains in his spare time I see." He answered flatly. "Fortunately that also means death hasn't come aknocking just yet."

After a moment of thought Jeremy turned his head slightly to meet her gaze. "You didn't tell me Jackie was so uncomfortable in his new school." There was a note of accusation in that comment and Lisa nearly laughed.

"He's acclimatizing." She rationalized.

"He's dealing with a bunch of shit head toddlers." He immediately countered. "Besides, Noel isn't holding up much better. Have you considered adjusting your approach?"

"What would you propose?"

A mistake asking, because Jeremy most certainly had a scheme in mind.

She saw it in the way his eyes flashed and the usually disinterested expression broke into one of his older smirks. Good grief, one would think a bullet might knock that kind of antagonistic streak out of him.

Still she indulged him, thinking that he was not nearly as difficult as he'd once been. Better still he didn't have the worst suggestions when it came to the boys. Lisa have to get his opinion of this year's birthday gifts, she knew Noel had a list but Jackie never managed to keep one – so Jeremy had started taking note of the not so subtle hints he dropped. Funnily enough the same went for Waylon.

"Well I say…" The words died away and for a second Lisa was confused.

Jeremy for all his lack of virtues had never been particularly clumsy with his speech. It was only when Lisa followed Blaire's gaze and saw a third party in the doorway that understanding settled in.

Smiling slyly Lisa stood, dusted off her jeans and reached for the backpack that had been refilled with empty packets and glad wrap from that day's indoor picnic. "You can email me your proposal." She announced carelessly, absolutely positive Blaire was no longer listening. "And I'll tell you how prohibited it is when we visit next week."

With that Lisa stepped into the doorway, casting a knowing looking Sebastian's way before she left. The man stepped back to give her room to leave, looking to the world like there's anywhere he'd rather be than there in that moment. "Play nice." She advised with a careless wave of her hand, leaving the pair to it.

She knew he'd snap by now.

Sebastian watched Lisa go, having through he'd done well not to accidentally bump into Waylon in the lobby when he saw the man with his sons. Unfortunately he'd not anticipated Lisa lingering back those few extra moments. Knowing he'd be hearing about this later Sebastian took a steadying breath and turned back towards the hospital room, stomach turning unpleasantly as he saw Jeremy inside.

Glaring.

_Of course._

Standing in an uncomfortable silence Sebastian shifted uneasily, one hand on the open door and the other pressed into his chest, a brown paper bag held securely between the two. He'd never liked silences but he was hesitant to break this one, not sure what would have come out of his mouth if he dared open it.

For once he was not the one that cracked in the quiet. Admittedly Blaire did not wait all that long. "Going to stand there all day?" He asked dryly, tone scathing enough that Sebastian nearly winced under the bitterness of it.

Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn't. Hard to tell now days.

If Blaire expected some kind of bite back he was sorely disappointed when Sebastian's silence continued. Just as miserable as it had been when he first arrived, even the little scowl he mustered up was more along the vein of morose than it was angry.

Sighing Jeremy took some form of pity on the man and added. "Get in here, you're wasting my time just standing there." Another second of silence passed and Jeremy's expression dulled a bit. "Not sure if you can tell with how thick you are Sinclair, but I'm telling you to help me here."

It was highly unlikely Sebastian remembered clearly the promise he'd made, but he finally moved all the same. Stepping inside the apprehensive man quietly slid the door shut behind him.

He looked well and truly out of his depth but Sinclair still marched himself stiffly over to the bedside and occupied the chair that Waylon had for most of that day. At first he attempted to look at Jeremy but then immediately decided this to be a bad idea and turned his gaze downward towards the paper bag he'd brought in with him.

Just as the continued quiet was beginning to try Jeremy's patience, Sinclair finally spoke up. "How many surgeries?" He asked softly and Jeremy could not for the life of him nail down exactly what that lifeless tone was supposed to convey.

"Eight so far." He reported back dully. "Another few coming over the next couple of months." Likely he'd be undergoing quite a number of surgeries those following years.

For such a tiny piece of metal it certainly did cause a whole laundry list of problems once lodged inside of him.

"A bit out of my comfort zone you know?" He remarked casually, if Sebastian insisted on being so emotionless he might as well fill in that empty space with a sneer of his own. "Getting  _professional_  treatment."

Understanding the small jab at him Sebastian shifted again and Jeremy was positive it was irritation this time. An improvement on whatever this brooding attitude was. "I…" He began, tone starting off venomous but it dropped away with a heavy sigh and once again he turned silent.

Talk about a killjoy.

Making a show of looking at his phone Jeremy chuckled under his breath and kept on probing at Sinclair, just waiting to see how long that stony front would last before it started to crack. "You know I didn't expect you to hold out for this long. Thought for sure I'd see your sorry face before Upshur's."

"Blaire…"

And he ignores the warning note in Sebastian's tone because frankly he'd been in this hospital for an ungodly amount of time and they were agonizingly low on entertainment options. Sinclair would have to suffice. "Would you take this long to visit my grave if the bullet had gone just a little higher, huh?"

"Jeremy." Sinclair tried again and was spoken over.

"That's rather cold of you Sebastian, thought for sure you'd at least be quicker if only to gloat. Or would you take the time to take some tap dancing lessons first? Just to be real thorough about-"

"Jeremy!" His name was accompanied by a sudden burst of sound as Sebastian sprung out of his seat, tossing it back to the ground in the same motion. Eyes wild as he stared down at the hospitalized man.

_Ah, there we go._

Not the slightest bit alarmed by the little display of violence that accompanied Sinclair reaching his limit and breaking, Blaire merely smiled thinly at the furious man. "Oh? You have a complaint? Frustrated you couldn't just run away?"

It was poor form to manhandle a hospital patient but Sebastian didn't seem to be considering the state of his form when he reached forward to snare Blaire by the front of his shirt, jerking him a small distance off the mattress while positively seething. "I was only trying to do what was best for us!"

"I don't remember asking you to do that."

"What the hell do you want from me, Blaire? Is this a big fucking joke to you?" He demanded viciously and Jeremy's smirk deepened when Sinclair dropped a bit of coarse language. But the expression died immediately with what Sinclair said next.

"How many times are you going to make me think you are dead, huh?"

Briefly he thought about the shack, 'do you want to die', he'd asked at the time. Then on Waylon's balcony at the old house, 'I thought you were dead', he'd said back then.

And now…

He didn't remember much of what happened after he'd collapsed out front of the courthouse.

A blur of faces and words that came in and out of focus as he went between consciousness and darkness. But he did remember one important little thing.

" _I didn't give you permission to die!"_  Familiar words, familiar hands scarred and pale. " _I put too much work into you just for you die now, Jeremy. Eyes on me_."

"Hey, look at me idiot." Jeremy muttered catching Sebastian by surprise as the hand not currently hooked up to a monitor rest over the fists that were currently stretching one of his favorite shirts. "Eyes on me. I am alive." He reminded gently. "Right in front of you. I am still here. Not in much of a condition to go anywhere even if I wanted to."

What had once been a harsh grasp on Blaire turning lax as his shoulders began to shake. "Stop doing this to me." Sinclair pleaded miserably. "Please…stop doing these things to me."

"No promises."

And Sinclair laughed, because what else can he do other than that?

With a disbelieving shake of his head he gradually released Blaire. Cringing as he unhooked his fingers from the stretched fabric, as if only realising now how brutish he'd been. Still had some control issues, but only when Blaire was involved.

"Why can't you let this be over?" He wondered aloud. "You tell me you hate me, can't wait to be rid of me but the moment I take so much as a step away, you act like I'm somehow the bad guy. The moment I try to sever ties you…you just hold tighter. I know you pretty well Jeremy, hard not to after all this, but I'm not a psychic. I can't read between every line. I can't see through every lie – and there's  _so_  many with you – please just for once would you be straight with me?"

He should have been more put off when Jeremy laughed but at this point he couldn't' seem to muster up the irritation. Just a muted sense of relief, hearing him laugh at all. "Be straight with you?" He repeated, scoffing. "Well that would just negate the whole point of this, now wouldn't it?" Jeremy remarked once his laughter subsided to the occasional chuckle. "If it takes a bullet to get you to come down off your high horse what is a man to do? Not sure how many more near death experiences I can take before you actually get me killed."

"You didn't get shot just to make a point. You got shot because someone wanted to  _kill_  you and had a  _gun_." Sebastian reminded stiffly. "How are you still alive? So many people have tired to kill you. There must be some law against this many lucky breaks." Now he was just staring off into space, as though he could not for the life of him understand how this happened to be his life. Jeremy responded with nothing short of vindictive glee.

"And yet, here I am."

If his living was a good way to spite his enemies then he lived out of spite and spite alone.

Tiredly Sebastian watched the overly smug man, thinking that there was very little he could actually do to step on his good mood today. He was unrightfully cheery for a hospital bound man and Sinclair felt cheated – like he didn't have a shred of control over the situation anymore. Now when had that happened?

"You machiavellian bastard…"

But, Sebastian resigned; it was worth it to see Jeremy laugh a bit more. "Now there's a ten dollar word, easy Seb." Jeremy had not expected Sebastian to startle at that.

For a moment his smile dimmed, trying to place what exactly it was that he'd said that caused that reaction when he was not gunning for it. It took a moment to place the only difference and despite himself Jeremy looked away from the idiot's mismatched eyes. "Guess Waylon's idiocy is rubbing off. Don't get used to it." He muttered with excuse readily but this time Sebastian had absolutely no difficulty picking apart his lies. Of fucking course.

Instead he watched as the emotion that had been so dearly lacking gradually leaked back into Sebastian's eyes. The smile followed slowly after. "I suppose I'm really not that surprised." He mused tiredly. "You're far too stubborn to die."

"You told me not to go."

Sebastian's answer was surprised silence. If it was because he'd not realised how much Jeremy actually recalled from that day out front the courthouse or the fact something so genuinely open had slipped out of the guarded man, Sebastian couldn't say. He was just staring at Jeremy, being struck with the feeling of properly seeing him for the first time. A different man than the others he'd met.

Looking back on it Sinclair thought they'd both changed into very different people. Perhaps they'd broken one another too many times and just as quickly rebuilt themselves from the broken pieces. But now they'd settled, all their cracks and scratches still intact but no longer threatening to rattle out of place. Sebastian couldn't help thinking that he wouldn't mind really getting to know  _this_  Jeremy.

The normal way.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" He asked, because wasn't that exactly how he'd managed it the first time?

"That's it? No threats or jabs at me while I'm down?" Jeremy remarked, almost unsettled by the lack of retort.

Smiling Sebastian offered up a hopeless little shrug, a kind of 'what can you do' gesture. "You can't always expect me to have a witty rejoinder." Jeremy mustered up a little halfhearted scowl that said he expected just that. Sebastian would hate to disappoint. "Besides, kicking a man while he's down is more  _your_  methodology wouldn't you say?" Jeremy's derisive snort might as well have been an agreement. Didn't even have it in him to pretend otherwise.

"So?" Sebastian asked again. "That coffee?"

"The stuff here is even worse that Park's." Jeremy groused but there was a hidden approval under the complaint and so Sebastian took that as permission to stay once he got that drink. "Hey." Jeremy called before Sebastian could leave in search of that coffee and a generous amount of sugar. "They close up visiting hours pretty soon."

"How fortunate for us you've never exactly been adverse to bending some rules. I'd say you're a poor influence on me." And again it was worth the moment of recklessness to see Jeremy ruthful smile.

"Oh, but before I do." Sebastian remembered the reason he'd come here – or rather the excuse he'd given himself to walk through the hospital doors after so long. Reaching into the bag he'd brought with him Sebastian produced a small rectangular parcel and handed it over to Blaire who looked at it like he half expected it to tick before exploding. Sebastian laughed. "Go on." He encouraged. "I promise I'm not about to make any more attempts on your life."

"Today at least." Jeremy shot back but at the same time he was opening the 'gift'. Sebastian got himself up to prepare to embark on the quest for coffee but lingered long enough to see Jeremy's reaction. It was indulgent but he wanted to see the man's reaction when he saw the frame he'd been given.

That reaction was to freeze, right down to his expression and just stare at the photo he'd been given. The stunned silence prompted Sebastian to speak. "There's not much of Murkoff left and I figure even when there was they had no real purpose for that." He sounded smug to his own ears but couldn't help himself. He was thrilled to have been able to give Jeremy something that shocked the words right out of him. "I asked after it and as luck would have it Murkoff hadn't burnt that photo. They had one of a cat as well, I didn't bring that – not sure if you'd want it as much but…I thought you should have that."

Sebastian hated the photo personally. Seeing Blaire and Trager on that golf course, every inch the man that had thrown him into hell for a laugh – well it unsettled him to say the least.

But Trager and Blaire were smiling in that photo and Sebastian thought it might be a better memory for Jeremy to have of Rick. A better way to remember his friend.

If Jeremy thanked him Sebastian didn't catch it and if he was getting a bit misty eyed he pretended not to see. For the sake of Jeremy's pride. But he knew he'd done enough – Jeremy was happy.

With a promise to be back with coffee and a tacked on command from Jeremy to bring sugar with him, that he certainly did not need to be reminded of, Sebastian took himself back out of the room. He'd expected to leave by Jeremy's order or in a fit of rage the next time he passed through that doorway. But Sebastian thought that the quest for coffee was infinitely better than running out as he'd initially thought would be the case.

Once Sebastian was out of Blaire's room and in search of coffee to return with he was met with both Miles and Riley.

Riley looked startled to see him, Miles not in the slightest – both looked like they'd rather be anywhere else than the narrow sterile hall. And Sebastian felt he'd cheated them by being completely unsurprised to see them there in the hospital.

"You can stand down." He promised easily, wanting to give them an easy escape from this wretched place. He hated being here too, but Sebastian felt he could stomach it for as long as it took for Jeremy to once again be patched back into a basically functioning human.

But of course Miles and Riley wanted to follow along for a bit, badgering him with some questions about this Temple Gate nonsense.

Very briefly Sebastian shared in Miles's flare for vengeance. Old thoughts of Murkoff rising to the surface once again, but each and every one was quickly smothered when he'd glance at the little cups of steaming water he was preparing. "Maybe it's better if we let Murkoff wither and die on its own." He murmured, much to Upshur's genuine dissatisfaction. "There's things more important than revenge." He reasoned, smiling apologetically to Miles.

They all knew that given half a chance he'd go running, likely with a camera in hand to see what he could do to further bury Murkoff. Fortunately Miles was not without a leash and Riley was willing to stand at the other end, attempting to hold it when Waylon couldn't spend all his energy talking the man down.

Their story should end with the asylum, whatever hell Murkoff had cooked up elsewhere – that was someone else's story to tell.

And yet Miles kept insisting. Asking for little favours and reminding him of the favours he'd done that bordered on emotional blackmail. He was really selling his angle and so Sebastian eventually relented in what small way he could allow. "Anything you have you can send to me, I'll go over it myself and…" He hesitated, again looking at the cups in his hands. "…I'll also have Blaire take a look at them. He's sure to know more about it than we do. It'll give him something to do, to chase away the boredom."

He knew Miles had already bothered Blaire on the matter – but perhaps if he was the one handing Jeremy the information he'd be less adverse to taking it.

Miles was positively beaming, bouncing up to nearly take Sebastian off his feet in a hug. "Watch the coffee!" He didn't but thankfully Sebastian didn't feel much of the small burn when it overflowed the rim and splashed onto his left hand.

"Just you wait, Sin." Miles, who completely ignored his little warning, grinned at him. "These fuckers aren't going to have a damn thing left when I'm through with them." And under Miles's shining eyes, the shadow of the Walrider stirred.

Sebastian believed him.

Once freed from Miles's enthusiasm Sebastian was left with a slightly less full cup in both hand and a wary smile on his face. However while Miles went, talking under his breath to himself as he rapidly made new plans – Riley lingered behind.

"I don't suppose you'll be coming home with us tonight." He ventured, sounding as though it tired him to even bother asking. They both knew the answer and when Sebastian's smile turned apologetic Riley only sighed as he dragged his fingers through his mess of dark curls. The sound rattling heavily in his chest, he was exhausted but did not find it in him to fight his little brother on the matter.

It was…difficult for Riley.

He was still adjusting to this new arrangement. This acknowledgement that he needed to let go, or at the very least not bind Sebastian so close to him at all times.

Sebastian had promised he wouldn't leave even if Riley completely let go and while he believed his brother was not lying to him, it was still challenging to even loosen his hold after so many years of clinging as tightly as he could.

But he  _was_  trying.

Finally Riley dropped his hand from his hair, looking at Sebastian with those wary eyes again. Wondering how far he could let his brother drift before it became too much. "Sebastian." He began slowly, somehow sounding more the father than a brother in that moment. "When did you grow so attached to that guy?"

Had he missed something? Riley thought about it frequently now days. Raking over all the memories he had to see what little detail he may have overlooked. Tried to remember if maybe Sebastian had showed something back in the asylum, some kind of inclination that would explain why he and Blaire were so unbearably close.

The obsession that followed the riot he vaguely remembered and Riley didn't even want to think about the resulting mothers of captivity. He understood that time could tether people together – but to this extent…?

Maybe even long before the asylum, there had been some small aspect to his brother he'd never even considered before.

"Well…" Sebastian mused, smile just shy of mischievous. A kind of impishness that Riley was still adjusting to but felt appropriate of a little brother. "I  _am_  clinically insane."

Riley laughed, a little concoction of disbelief and dry humor and then Riley let it go.

Difficult as it was to do, he let Sebastian have that little bit of space he'd never allowed before. He did not ask for anymore details. "Don't even know what happens from here." He commented instead, looking around the hospital as though it might just melt away and reality would set back in. One where they died and nothing could be considered 'happy'. But the walls remained.

"It…it's over isn't it?"

A moment of silence passed. It was not heavy or filled with any great emotion. It was just a momentary pause as both brothers took a look at where they currently were and wondered where it went from here. Then finally Sebastian hummed a small contented sound and tapped his brother's shoulder gently, still cautious not to spill the drinks. Again he smiled once he had his brother's eyes back on him.

"Until tomorrow."

Riley watched as his brother left, going back to see the man that Riley would have personally preferred stayed down the first time they thought him dead.

The second time however…well Riley's hand had been right there with Waylon's stopping the blood from flowing too quickly.

But to this day Riley thought that either a result of love for his brother and Waylon as opposed to any favour to Blaire. Or…perhaps he just didn't want to see anyone else die. Perhaps he didn't want anyone else, even if it was Blaire of all people, to go because Murkoff demanded it.

Sighing for a second time Riley glanced to the ceiling. "Right. Tomorrow." At least, Riley thought distantly, they had one of those.

And as Sebastian rejoined Blaire in his little room, taking care not to think about how this time it was made of white and brick rather than rot and wood, he set the coffee down just a little bit out of Blaire's reach.

When the man gave him one of the many looks of disdain he could conjure up for Sebastian, his smile had been nothing short of wicked. "You'd only burn yourself."

His response was hardly eloquent. "You rat bastard." Still Sebastian laughed and pushed the coffee a bit closer and well within Jeremy's reach before returning to his adopted seat by the bed, drinking his own beverage that was little more than milk and honey. He didn't let Blaire know – he'd never hear the end of it if he found out.

For a while they didn't speak. Just sat, enjoyed their drinks as much as they both could with the limitations of the hospital and stared out the little window.

"Are you going to run away again?"

The silence was not broken so much as its time had expired. Sebastian felt it dribbling away as time went on and so he was unsurprised when Jeremy spoke. Even the question was not one he hadn't been anticipating.

As such he already had his answered in mind. "No." Then a question of his own. "Are you going to keep lying?"

"Probably." The honesty was the most shocking thing about that answer and Sebastian chuckled quietly. He almost spoke again until Jeremy went on to add. "But not about this." Then even more quietly, begrudgingly. "And…not to you. For a while at least."

"In that case I only have one thing I want to ask you before this honesty streak runs out." He became aware of Jeremy making a conscious effort not to look at him and found this amusing. Most people averted their eyes when lying, but for Jeremy the truth was more difficult to look in the face. That seemed appropriate he supposed.

"I'm not your monster." Sebastian told him slowly and watched as Jeremy's fingers tightened around the cup in his hands, fighting down the desire to argue. To stake a claim. It must have been hard for him but he remained silent and allowed Sebastian to go on. "And I will not be your weapon. You're not my patient and you can't own me…but you can tell me what you want. Tell me what you want this to be."

This mess. This absolute disaster of a thing they'd somehow built up around themselves using broken bones and minds to stick it all together. This absolutely wretched, monstrous thing that they ought to have torn down but for some reason had become so fond of.

What did Jeremy want to do with that?

Jeremy struggled for a moment. With his words or the honesty it hardly mattered. He thought it over, tried to piece together how best to say what he really wanted. He thought of himself, as he always did. Thought of the difference between a house and a home, about colleagues and friends, about desire and need.

Thought about the concept of 'for myself' and for 'someone else' and then tried to conjure a link between the two. And found that 'us' was suddenly more appealing than it had ever been before.

"What if it's just what we want?" Jeremy asked and for this question Sebastian did not have a planned answer.

The look he passed Sinclair bordered on accusatory. Daring him to question him too much, to probe at his revealed weaknesses in a way Jeremy knew he would have were the situation reversed. But Sinclair didn't utter a word, just watched him.

"What if what I want matches what we want?" He pressed, tone a little defensive now. Afraid of something like rejection. "What happens then?"

"Then I give it to you however I can." Sebastian's answer felt too easy to Jeremy. It seemed unfair that he could be so confident where Jeremy was not.

He had a list of things he wanted. "You can't be a coward." Jeremy began quickly and then just as quickly began to rattle off his other needs. "You can't just try to run off if this gets hard. I don't want any more scissors. Anywhere,  _ever_. You can't tell anyone about the nightmares but you better fucking be there to take responsibility for them. I can't live with the Park's forever, but I absolutely will not go to that fucking farmhouse – I need a middle ground here. No one else gets to die, not me, not you, not even goddamn Upshur. And I want better coffee, don't you dare let Park pick it out. And I don't want you spending all your time at that Sisko woman's coffee place. And I… _I…_ "

Sebastian stopped him with little more than a hand on his own.

The small contact felt inappropriate somehow, as though Sebastian was being too generous with it, but Jeremy didn't pull away. "I got it." Sebastian promised gently. "It's okay."

"And if it isn't? If it's absolutely terrible?" Jeremy demanded sharply. "If it's just more nightmares and bullshit – what do we do then?"

And Sebastian's eyes gleamed when he smiled in a way that said that was it; there was nothing more to think about. "We endure." The hand around his own squeezed slightly. "Do you understand, Jeremy?"

He did.

Sighing Jeremy allowed some of the anxious energy to fade away as he idly stared at the hand over his own. Burns overtop of the many scars and divots in Jeremy's skin. All those scars and Jeremy had to wonder if there was any real point in them anymore. He couldn't even rekindle the usual feeling of ownership upon seeing them.

Instead all he got was a muted sense of uncertainty.

"There's one more thing I want."

"What is that?"

Taking a moment Jeremy looked carefully at Sebastian's face and was unsurprised by how open it was. He thought back to when Sinclair had made that promise to him in the asylum and couldn't help thinking that for as warped and twisted as he'd become – there was still something of that shiny faced boy in there. And for the first time since meeting him Jeremy found this fact did not offend him.

Rather than speaking his final demand that if he was being generous could be considered a request out loud Jeremy urged Sebastian forward. Perhaps if only Sinclair heard and it was quiet enough Jeremy could pretend he wasn't having this moment of weakness at all.

Obedient as always Sebastian leant in close and listened when Jeremy murmured his last request.

For a moment he stilled, eyes widening slightly as the weight of Jeremy's little secret request sank in. Then slowly his expression melted into a smile that threatened to grow out of control if he allowed it. Too full of some indescribable warmth that it was difficult to not just melt with in.

Nodding mutely he caught Jeremy's eyes again and remembered to use his words. "If that's what you want." He agreed, somehow able to keep his voice steady enough to get the words out.

Clearly not good enough because Jeremy laughed at his shaky he sounded. "God I hate you." He muttered, pinching Sebastian's cheek with a small smirk.

Still shaken from that little secret Sebastian smiled stupidly, completely ignoring the slight pain in his face. "Yeah, I know. You keep saying that."

"You could do me the common courtesy of saying it back, Sinclair." Jeremy reminded, only a little agitated by the slow response time.

Rather than repeating the declaration of hatred, Sebastian took Jeremy's hands if only to stop him from pinching any harder. His face already hurt enough from the smiling. "Well, I'll be right here. Waiting until you say the other one." He promised faintly.

"And I won't tell a soul what you said."

**Author's Note:**

> Also this fic will contain mentions of the Warden, if you don't know the Warden you need to fix that. Like...now.  
> Toddle on over to http://thewarden-at-mtmassive.tumblr.com, and check them out. Do it. They're great.  
> And if you like, here's my tumblr. http://malice-and-macarons.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [An End](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357098) by [Casually_on_the_Brink_of_Death](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casually_on_the_Brink_of_Death/pseuds/Casually_on_the_Brink_of_Death)




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